Searching for Answers
by Laura Louisa Lewis
Summary: February 1998: Questions about her son's death led a grieving mother to kidnap fifteen-year-old Jamie Reagan. The family rescued Jamie, the kidnapper was sentenced for her crimes, and life went on for the Reagans. Now it's 2012, she's out of prison, her questions are unresolved, and she's still searching for answers. Are any of the Reagans safe this time?
1. Prologue

**Author's Note**

Welcome to what _was_ my first Blue Bloods fan fiction. Set in Season Three, because most of this story was written after that season. It's been sitting on my computer waiting to be completed, and also because I wasn't sure how the non-linear structure would work on this site. (The structure was roughly inspired by Kate Morton's _The Forgotten Garden_ , which is a very good book I'd recommend reading!)

I hope to post a chapter a day, but not on Fridays, because you should be watching Blue Bloods on TV that night. :D

* * *

 **PROLOGUE**

FEBRUARY 3, 1998, TUESDAY AFTERNOON – BAY RIDGE

"There he is. Andrew Parker Reagan," John DiMarco, former Rochester cop, now a private investigator, pointed out the front window of the minivan he had purchased for this job. He handed the photo his client has supplied to his partner, Carl Fields. "You agree?"

"About five-eight, slender, reddish hair. Looks like this photo. I'd say that's our target," Carl agreed after looking at the teenage boy who had just stepped out the front door of a two-story brick colonial house.

"Mindy, start driving forward," he instructed his girlfriend. Mindy wasn't an employee of DiMarco & Fields Investigations, but they needed a driver who looked non-threatening for this case. "You have the map ready?"

"Right here, ready to go." Mindy turned to face him. "Hon, I still don't have a good vibe about this. I know you got a problem with these messed up custody cases, but why do we have to grab this kid, anyway?"

"Mindy, this isn't the time. But remember the papers I showed you? This is the only way to get him back where the court says he belongs, with his mother. Just get moving." DiMarco tucked himself next to his partner, out of sight behind the passenger seat.

Mindy drove the minivan forward, drifting to a stop in front of the house at the same time their target reached the street. She lowered the window on the passenger side. "Young man, can you help me? I'm lost."

DiMarco listened as the teen responded, then motioned for his partner to throw open the sliding door on the side of the vehicle. He was out of the vehicle seconds later, but the boy had already noticed something was wrong and was turning to run. DiMarco grabbed onto the boy's backpack, causing him to stumble and giving Carl time to catch up with him and grab him from behind in a tight bear hug. The boy was a fighter, DiMarco had to give him that. Carl was a big, muscular guy, and this skinny kid was giving him a run for the money, trying to twist free, kicking and yelling. And slowing them down. They didn't have time for this.

"Jamie! Hey, you, let him go!"

DiMarco turned toward the voice and saw a cop running across the yard from the garage. _A cop! What the hell is a cop doing here?_ He reached for the Taser he'd packed in his back pocket, just in case something had gone wrong. _Like the kid being a fighter and a goddamned cop showing up…_ Carl had wrestled the boy to the door of the van, but he was still resisting. DiMarco pressed the Taser into the boy's lower leg and pulled the trigger, just for a second; just long enough to temporarily disable the boy and let them get control of the situation. Carl quickly pushed him into the van, and DiMarco grabbed the boy's body and lowered him to the floor. DiMarco winced in sympathy as he knelt down beside their captive. The residual electric jolt from the Taser was causing the boy's muscles to spasm and he was moaning between short breaths. "Sorry 'bout that, Drew. But you'll be okay. We'll get you back to your mother, and you'll be okay," DiMarco tried to reassure the boy, even as he began binding his hands together. "Mindy, get moving," he called to his girlfriend as Carl hopped into the van beside him.

"Cop, let go!" Carl yelled.

DiMarco looked up to see the cop gripping the door with one hand, trying to get in even as Mindy began driving forward. Carl yanked the door shut and the cop yelped in pain and lost his grip, allowing Carl to get the door latched. "Mindy, get out of here fast," DiMarco ordered.

Carl stepped over their captive to peer out the back window. "Nobody told us there was a flippin' cop in the family," he grumbled. "But I think he's okay. Looks like he's trying to get up."

"Good," DiMarco responded. "Let's get to the delivery point and get this boy back to his mother."

-BB-BB-BB-

A few hours later, in a cemetery on the other side of the city, Marjorie Thornsberg glanced down at her watch. It showed a time of five minutes after five o'clock. That gullible private detective she'd hired in Rochester had told her he would be arriving at ten after five. She reached down to touch her son's tombstone. "Just a little longer, Drew. Then I'll have my answers and you can rest peacefully."

She looked at her watch again. Seven minutes after five. She hoped that Rochester hick hadn't become lost in the big city. But an out-of-town detective had been her only option; the Reagan name was too well known in New York City. DiMarco & Fields Investigations advertised themselves as specialists in "difficult custody cases" and it hadn't taken much research to discover why. The sad story about DiMarco's Brazilian ex-wife taking his daughter back to her home country in the midst of their custody fight played right into her hands. She's traveled out to Rochester, told DiMarco a sob story about her ex-husband taking her son, Andrew Parker Reagan, from her, and he'd been more than eager to help. "The court gave me full custody," she'd wept to the detective. "I begged them not to give his father visitation rights. But they wouldn't listen, and his father refused to let Andrew return after their first visit. He's a powerful man in New York City, and the courts and police there won't help me. It's been almost a year, and I miss my Drew so much," she'd sobbed. "You're my last hope to get him back," she'd concluded, raising her teary eyes to beg him to help her. She was sure the generous fee she offered didn't hurt either.

The only true parts of the story she'd told John DiMarco were her son's first and middle names, and that she missed him every minute of every day. And because he'd believed the rest, in just a few more minutes, she would be on the way to finding the answers to the questions that had haunted her this past year.

Her precious son was dead, and the New York Police Department had failed to determine why it had to happen. The detectives had come to their conclusions, and refused her generous offer of money to investigate further. Since money hadn't been able to buy her resolution to the questions, she'd been forced to find another way. The Chief of Detectives, Frank Reagan, was going to get her the answers she needed or he would pay for his failure with his youngest son's life.


	2. Chapter 1 - Beginnings

**CHAPTER 1 – BEGINNINGS**

OCTOBER 9, 2012 – TUESDAY

"And the last item, Marjorie Thornsberg was released from the state prison yesterday." Detective Baker handed him the file as she concluded her morning briefing.

Police Commissioner Frank Reagan frowned at the file. "Marjorie Thornsberg." Amazing how that name still had the power to cut like a knife, even after almost fifteen years. He opened the folder and began reviewing the documents inside.

"Yes, Sir. She served her full sentence, at least as much as the law requires, so she's free." Baker paused as her boss read another page of the prison report. "Sir, she left a letter for you. They found it after she was already released. It's the next page."

Frank turned over to the letter. "Commissioner Reagan, you got justice for your sons. I'm still waiting for justice for mine," he read aloud. Frank stood up and paced to his office window. "Baker, get Jamie… get Officer Reagan in here at his earliest convenience."

"Right away, Sir."

Behind him, Frank heard the quick clip of Det. Baker's heels on the floor as she headed to her desk. He gripped the window frame tighter as he remembered the events Marjorie Thornsberg had orchestrated that horrible week. For him, it had begun with a phone call...

FEBRUARY 3, 1998 – TUESDAY AFTERNOON

The ringing of his car phone – no, they were called cellular phones now – interrupted the meeting between Chief Frank Reagan and one his senior detectives. Frank glanced at the phone. "I'd better answer this. It's my wife," he apologized. "Hello, dear," he answered the phone.

"Jamie! Oh my God, they took Jamie," Mary Reagan screamed hysterically into the phone, loud enough that she could be heard by both occupants of the office. "Frank, they took Jamie!"

"What? Who?" Frank struggled to form a coherent thought around the icy darkness growing in his gut.

"Joe saw them. He said it was two men in a tan minivan," Mary gasped out between sobs. "He tried to stop them, but he got hurt ..."

"Chief, 911?" Detective Thompson interrupted.

Frank acknowledged Thompson's question with a quick gesture. "Mary, have you called 911?" he asked his wife.

"Neighbor did," Mary choked on another sob. "Oh God, Jamie's gone and Joe's hurt."

Frank nodded to Thompson, who was busy answering the ringing desk phone. "What happened to Joe?" he asked his wife.

"He tried to stop them. I think he was hit by their car. I don't know," Mary cried.

Thompson hung up the phone and cut in. "That was Dispatch. Calling to let you know about the 911 call. A unit, detectives and a bus are rolling."

"Mary, I'm on my way home. Detectives and an ambulance are rolling already." He grabbed his coat and almost ran for the door. The police officer in him tried to map out the steps that needed to be taken to deal with the situation, but the father in him could only hear the echo of his wife's voice in his head and his own panicked thoughts.

 _"They took Jamie…"_ Jamie, their baby; their bright, smart boy; in his first year of high school and already headed toward an Ivy League education. Who would want to abduct him and why? Did they think they'd get a large ransom payout? The family lived comfortably, but they weren't wealthy and they didn't have ready cash to pay a large ransom. And what if the kidnappers didn't want money? What if they wanted something from the NYPD instead? The official policy was not to negotiate when an officer was held hostage, but this wasn't an officer; this was his _son_. Was there anything he could give them that would get Jamie back to him alive? And that assumed the kidnappers wanted anything at all. He'd made plenty of enemies over the course of his career; it was possible one of them had decided to get their revenge simply by hurting his son. Even worse, the kidnappers could be perverts who'd been prowling the neighborhood looking for a victim and had spotted Jamie. God, no, he prayed. Because if either of those were the case, nothing he could do would guarantee Jamie's safe return.

 _"Joe's hurt…"_ Joe, just a year out of the Academy and flourishing in his NYPD career. How badly was he injured? Mary had said Joe talked to her after being hurt, had been able to pass on information about the kidnappers, but was he still conscious now? Being hit by a car could cause anything from minor bruising to disabling or even life-threatening injuries. Was Joe's career over before it even got off the ground? Was his _life_ over? And that only covered the physical injuries. Joe had been there and had been unable to prevent his brother's abduction. Frank could only imagine the guilt Joe would be feeling over that fact. Joe was the more sensitive of their children; at least, he expressed his emotions more than he or Danny or Erin or even Jamie ever did. The fact that he'd done everything he could, to the point of physical injury, would do little to assuage his guilt. Joe would try to take full responsibility for Jamie being abducted even though none of it was his fault.

Reaching his car, Frank tried to stab the key into the lock to open the door. The key missed, skittering across the door and leaving a two-inch scratch in the paint. Frank leaned forward against the car for support as Mary's distressing news finally overwhelmed him. _Our children. Joe injured. Jamie abducted. God in heaven, protect them both._

"Frank, let me drive." Thompson was suddenly at his side, removing the car keys from his shaking hands and leading him around the car to the passenger door. "You need to call your father, to get him in the loop, and call your other children, make sure they're safe," Thompson added as he opened the door. "Get in. We need to get going."

-BB-BB-BB-

"Commissioner?

Detective Baker's words pulled Frank back to the present. "Yes, Baker?"

"Officer Reagan has been contacted and should arrive within thirty minutes."

"Thank you, Baker. Send him in when he arrives." He returned to his desk and began studying Marjorie Thornsberg's prison record, searching for any clue as to her intentions. He was still engrossed in the file when a knock on the door and a "Commissioner?" announced Jamie's arrival.

Frank looked up from the file to see his son standing in the doorway, looking sharp in his NYPD patrol uniform. "Come in, Jamie," he greeted his son, using his first name rather than his official title to tip him off that this was personal. He stood up from his desk as Jamie entered and closed the door behind him. "How are you this morning?"

"I'm fine, Dad," Jamie replied with a concerned frown. "Sarge said you needed to see me right away? Is everyone okay?"

"Sit down." Frank gestured toward one of the plush chairs in front of his desk, and took a seat in the other. "I'm sure you remember Marjorie Thornsberg." Frank watched his son's fair skin pale by several shades.

Jamie nodded silently as the name brought back fifteen-year old memories of _that_ week. The violent abduction from the street in front of his home, the terrifying hours in their van not knowing where he was being taken or what was going to happen to him, the long, lonely days spent locked in her attic wondering if he was going to get out alive… "Kind of hard to forget," he finally managed to stammer.

"She was released from prison yesterday."

Jamie swallowed hard, working to contain the panic suddenly flaring in his chest. "She served her time?"

"As much as the courts required, yes." Frank answered. "She left this note behind." Frank handed Jamie the copy of the letter, pretending he didn't see the slight tremble in his son's hand.

Jamie quickly scanned the short note. "I'm still waiting for justice…," he read off the note, trying to keep his voice steady. "Do you think this is a threat?"

"It's something I felt you needed to be aware of," Frank replied. "Until we know what she's up to, you need to keep an extra eye out for a while. Make sure no one follows you home after tour." He glanced over at his shaken son, feeling a sudden wave of over-protectiveness. "Come stay at home. Your room is always available, or you could use the garage apartment."

Jamie thought about it. "Thanks, but she knows where the house is. I'm probably better off at my place."

Frank nodded. He would have felt better about Jamie's safety if he was staying at the family home surrounded by well-armed family members, but he understood his son's need to assert his independence. "We're having a family meeting tonight at the house."

"Dad, is that necessary? I don't want to be the center of attention again for this."

"Jamie, it's not just about you I'm concerned about. I don't know what Marjorie Thornsberg is thinking, and Danny and Erin need to be aware also, not to mention Linda and your niece and nephews. I don't want any harm to come to any of you if a few extra precautions could prevent it. I'm sure you don't, either."

Jamie shook his head. "Of course not. I'll be there. Six p.m.?"

Frank stood up and Jamie followed suit. "Six p.m.," he confirmed as he walked with Jamie to the office door. Before Jamie could open the door, Frank laid one hand on his shoulder. "Be careful today."

Jamie attempted a smile. "Always am."


	3. Chapter 2 - Family Meeting

**CHAPTER 2 – FAMILY MEETING**

Frank folded his napkin and laid it on the table. "Pop, that was the best frozen lasagna you've heated up in a while."

Henry smirked. "If you want better food, give me more notice. It takes time to prepare a quality dinner."

"Time, and some talent in the kitchen," Danny commented.

"Look who's talking, Mr. 'Cheese in a Can'," Henry sniped back.

"Boys, behave," Frank commented. "Danny, don't criticize your grandfather's cooking unless you're willing to do it yourself."

"But, Dad, when you punish Danny like that, we all end up paying," Jamie cut in.

"Watch out, little brother. My best dish is a knuckle sandwich." Danny faked a punch at his brother's jaw, and Jamie ducked dramatically, nearly falling out of his chair.

"Boys, no fistfights at the table. The table is for eating." Frank told his sons. "And doing homework," he added for his grandchildren.

Frank's announcement was met with protesting groans from his grandsons. "Grandpa, do we have to?" Sean whined.

"Yes, you have to," Linda cut in. "Now get your dishes into the kitchen."

Ten minutes later, the adults in the family gathered in the living room as Nicki settled her cousins into doing their schoolwork in the dining room.

"So, Dad, are you going to tell us why we're here now?" Danny asked.

Frank looked at his family. "Marjorie Thornsberg is out of prison," he said simply.

The reaction was immediate. In the shocked silence that followed Frank's announcement, all eyes in the room went straight to Jamie. Danny broke the silence with a quiet curse. Erin moved to sit next to her brother, draping one arm around his shoulders with a quiet, "Oh, Jamie."

Jamie shrugged, trying to hide the nervous jitters caused by hearing that news again. "It's okay. Dad told me earlier today."

"No, Jamie, it's not okay. You shouldn't ever have to deal with _her_ again." Erin pulled him into a hug.

"How the hell is she out already? After what she did to Jamie, they just let her out after a few years?" Danny ranted.

"She served her entire sentence, less time for good behavior," Frank explained. "There wasn't anything they could do to keep her in."

"We were lucky the court sent her away for as long as they did," Erin added. "When she pled guilty, she could've received a much shorter sentence from the deal. And she likely would have, if she'd shown even a tiny bit of remorse for what she'd done."

"Okay, then what are we going to do to make sure she doesn't get to Jamie again?" Danny asked.

"I can take care of myself, Danny," Jamie snapped at his brother as he stood up. "Things have changed since back then."

"Not enough to stop her thugs from abducting you again if she wanted them to." Danny argued back.

"Boys, sit down," Frank interrupted what looked to be the beginning of a massive argument. "Jamie, you're right; you have more skills now to fight back. Danny's right also. If she came after you with enough men, or even by herself with a gun, she could abduct you again." Frank paused as he saw Jamie flinch and stumble backward onto the sofa at his last remark.

"She didn't have a gun," Jamie all but whispered. "Just the Taser. That was all."

Frank frowned, wondering what had prompted Jamie to argue that point, and who he was trying to convince. "But it's not just Jamie that I'm concerned about, it's everyone in this family. She left a note for me in her prison cell, stating that she's 'still waiting for justice for her son.' Until we know where she is and what she's up to, I want all of you to stay alert. Erin, Danny, Linda, you'll have to decide how much to tell your children, but they need to be careful also."

"Damn right they're gonna be careful," Danny muttered. "They're not leaving the house without an armed guard."

Linda hugged her husband, "Hon, Frank said to be careful, not paranoid. How about, 'they're not leaving the house without one of us at their side'?"

"Babe, if I'm at their side, I'm going to be armed. You should be too. Erin, it wouldn't hurt for you to carry your piece full time for a while."

"Danny, there are laws about that kind of thing," Erin argued.

"Pshaw. Laws. You know how to get around them. That's why we sent you to law school, right, little sis?" Danny teased. "You need to be able to protect my niece. Your daughter."

Erin leaned back on the couch. "As if a teenager's life wasn't filled with enough drama already, between boyfriends and peer pressure and drugs and everything else. How I am supposed to tell her about this without making her paranoid? 'Watch your back because the woman who kidnapped your Uncle Jamie is on the loose?'"

"Uncle Jamie was kidnapped? When? What happened?" Nicki spoke up from the doorway.

"Well, that's one way to do it," Henry commented.

"Nicki, you're supposed to be working on your homework, not eavesdropping on us," Erin scolded.

"Sorry. I found this permission slip for next week's field trip that you need to sign. My French class is visiting the French Consulate. But what happened to Uncle Jamie?"

"1998. Bad lady had Jamie grabbed, we found them and took Jamie back, bad lady got locked up." Danny summarized as he moved to stand protectively behind his brother. "And now she's out of prison, so you watch yourself."

Jamie smirked. "The Danny Reagan version of events. One week reduced down to one sentence," he remarked. "But seriously, Nik, Danny's right. Try not to be alone when you're outside for a while. And keep aware of what's going on around you. No one else needs to go through what I did that week. What we all did."

"Nicki, give me that permission slip," Erin finally said to break the silence. "Dad, do you think it's safe for her to go on this trip?"

"It should be fine. She'll be surrounded by other people, including armed guards at the consulate. But Nicki, remember what Jamie said. Stay with the group and be aware of your surroundings."

"Do armed Frenchies really count as armed guards?" Henry asked.

"Okay, you can go, if for no other reason so you'll learn not to make the kind of jokes Grandpa just did," Erin teased her grandfather. She scrawled her signature across the bottom of the form, then reviewed the form again. "What's this? Fifty dollars? For _lunch_?"

Nicki retrieved the form. "Mom, it's lunch at a French restaurant. You know, enhancing the cultural experience." She bounced out of the room.

Erin groaned. "Fifty dollars for lunch. Do you have any idea how expensive raising a teenage girl is?"

"Actually, daughter, I do," Frank interrupted. "I seem to remember having one around the house for several years. There was the clothes, the shoes, the prom dresses, makeup, hairspray…"

"And all that was just for Jamie," Danny teased his brother. He jumped back as Jamie took a swing at him.

"Dad, did I ever tell you thank you for everything you and Mom did?" Erin sat down on the arm of her father's chair, draping one arm around his shoulders.

As the conversation moved away from the subject of Marjorie Thornsberg, Jamie got to his feet. "I need to be going. Got to be up early for work tomorrow."

Frank gathered Jamie's coat and escorted him to the door. "I can't convince you to stay here?" he asked.

Jamie shrugged into his coat. "Thanks, Dad, but I'll be fine at my apartment. I'll see you on Sunday."

Frank stood in the doorway and watched Jamie walk down to the driveway. Watched the street for any threat to his son. _This is how it started back then. He walked out of the house and they grabbed him._ But not tonight. He watched Jamie slip into the restored Chevelle that had once been his, then Joe's before it became Jamie's, and returned Jamie's wave good-bye as he drove past. He closed the door and turned to find Danny standing behind him, a concerned frown on his face.

"Dad, do you think it's a good idea, letting him stay alone right now?" Danny asked.

Frank stared at the door. "No, I don't. But there's no specific threat against him, and your brother is an adult who can make his own decisions. And I understand his need to…"

"To be a stubborn ass," Danny cut in. "He's putting himself in a vulnerable position, just to show he's in control."

"More vulnerable than you know," Frank mused. "Your mother and I never told you about the nightmares he had for weeks after we got him back. The nightmares and the sleepwalking. There wasn't a locked door in the house that could stop him when he was caught in that nightmare."

"Joe told me." At his father's questioning look, Danny shrugged and explained, "When your rookie brother shows up for work several days in a row looking like the end of a hard double tour, people start to talk. I made him tell me what was going on."

Frank nodded. Danny always had watched out for his siblings. He should've known that Joe's exhausted condition wouldn't have slipped by Danny. "After that night Jamie actually got outside, on a freezing night with a foot of snow on the ground, Joe insisted on sleeping in the same room with him. He felt it was his duty to keep Jamie safe, even if it meant he didn't get any rest himself."

"Dad, Jamie shouldn't be alone tonight," Danny insisted as he pictured the dangers his brother would face if he sleepwalked out of his apartment.

"No, he shouldn't," Frank agreed.

"You want me to go stay with him?"

"I want you to do that. And don't take no for an answer."

"Danny, let me make up a Thermos of hot cocoa for you to take," Linda suggested. She'd walked into the room just in time to pick up the tail end of the conversation. "Jamie might turn you away, but I doubt he'll turn down cocoa."


	4. Chapter 3 – Memories: The Brothers

**CHAPTER 3 – MEMORIES: THE BROTHERS**

OCTOBER 9, 2012 - MANHATTAN

Jamie pulled his car into its parking place under his apartment building. Clutching the steering wheel, he glanced around the parking garage, checking one more time to see if anyone had followed him. "Get out of car, walk to elevator, ride elevator up, walk to apartment," he told himself. "You can do this. You do this every day. Nothing special." That resolve lasted until the elevator doors opened on his floor. Then he sprinted down the hallway from the elevator to his apartment, quickly unlocked the door and slammed it shut behind him. He spun around and fastened both the lock and the deadbolt, and for one crazy second, considered pulling his bookcase in front of the door also. "Damn it," he swore, angry at himself for letting the fact of Marjorie Thornsberg's freedom unsettle him so much.

He'd made his best effort all day to go about business as usual, but he knew he hadn't been entirely successful in hiding his frazzled nerves. When he'd checked in at the 12th after meeting his father, Renzulli had even called him on it, and once he'd heard the news, he'd been on edge too. "Reagan, you're telling me the nutjob that grabbed you back then is loose?" he'd asked incredulously. "I remember what your brother Joe told me. That crackpot shoulda been locked up a lot longer," he'd added. And his sergeant had apparently passed the word to his partner, because for the remainder of their uneventful shift, Vinnie Cruz hadn't let him out of sight. It was even worse than when he was a rookie.

He had gone to the family home for dinner and the family meeting, partly because he was expected to be there and partly to prove to himself that fear and memories of the past couldn't control him. And maybe they weren't controlling him, but they sure were doing a number on his mental state.

He stripped off his coat and dropped onto the sofa, hoping to find something on television to distract him from thinking too much. But a few minutes later, he gave up and started pacing around his small apartment, checking every door, every window, every shadowy corner for potential threats. Nothing. He sat back down on the edge of the sofa, resting his head on his hands. He just couldn't relax, not with the memories of that week fifteen years ago running laps through his head.

It had started innocently enough. All he was doing was going to the library to study with Katie…

FEBRUARY 3, 1998, TUESDAY AFTERNOON – BAY RIDGE

Jamie Reagan dashed down the steps from his house on the way to the bus stop, heading for the library and a study date with Katie Dolan. Already lost in thoughts of Katie and how to turn the study date into a real date (if Mom and Dad would stop treating him like a _child_ and let him go on a real date; he was _fifteen_ , after all! Well, only by a few months, but still. Fifteen!), he almost didn't notice when the mini-van pulled to a stop beside him.

"Young man, can you help me? I'm lost," the woman driving the van asked.

He turned toward the van. "Sure."

The woman held up a map. "I'm trying to find Winston Street. Can you show me where it is?"

Jamie stepped toward the van. "It's just a few streets over." Then he saw the side door of the van sliding open. He only had time to realize something was wrong and take one step back before two men jumped out of the van. He turned to run, but one of the men grabbed onto the backpack he wore slung over one shoulder, throwing him off balance before he twisted free of the strap. The other man quickly grabbed him from behind, wrapping thick arms around his chest, pinning his arms to his sides and nearly lifting him off his feet. "Help! Joe! Mom! Help!" he screamed as the man holding him yanked him back around toward the van.

The sight of the gaping opening in the side of the van sent a spike of fear straight through him. He tried to recall Danny's and Joe's advice about escaping from kidnappers. _DO NOT get into their vehicle for a trip to Crime Scene #2, where you'll most likely end up dead._ That was the point they'd always hit hardest. _Shout. Resist. Fight back._ "Lemme go! Stop! Let go!" he yelled. He dug his feet into the ground and pushed back against the man holding him, struggling as hard as he could to stay away from that open door. "Help me! Help!" he yelled again, while trying to wiggle free of the man's grasp. _Make yourself heavy. The lower your center of gravity, the harder it is to get you into a car_ , Danny's voice echoed in his head. Jamie tried to follow those instructions, but the thug holding him was too large and too strong, and easily wrestled him closer to the open door on the van. He knew for certain that nothing good was going to happen to him if they got him inside. He braced his feet on the door jamb of the van and pushed back against the kidnapper with all his strength. "Leggo! Help!"

"Jamie! Hey, you, let him go!"

Joe's voice cut through the panic racing through Jamie's mind. He twisted in the grip of the man who held him and caught a glimpse of his brother, dressed in his NYPD uniform in preparation for his shift, running across the front yard from the garage.

"Joe! Help..." he managed to get out before the first man pressed a Taser to his leg and triggered an electric jolt that disrupted ever muscle in his body. His feet slipped off the door jamb, allowing the two men to shove him roughly into the van's cargo area. Lying on the floor, gasping for the breath that the Taser had ripped from his lungs, Jamie was vaguely aware of noises over his head: Joe yelling for them to stop, one of the thugs shouting for Joe let go of the door, a dull thud as the door was yanked shut followed by a pained shout from Joe and then the door firmly slamming shut as they accelerated away from the scene. One of the thugs was kneeling beside him, binding his hands together in front of him; the other stepped over his trembling form to peer out the back window, making some remark about nobody telling them there was a cop in the family. Jamie held onto his next statement like it was a lifeline: "I think he's okay. Looks like he's trying to get up." One thought kept running through his mind. _Joe's got to be okay. He's the only one who knows what happened._

-BB-BB-BB-

Pounding on his apartment door yanked Jamie's thoughts back to the present. His heart racing, he jumped to his feet, whipped his off-duty weapon out of its holster and aimed it toward the door. "Who's there?" he rasped.

"Jamie, open up! It's your brother. Danny."

Jamie shoved his gun back in place and fumbled with the door locks with shaking hands. "Kinda figured it wasn't Joe," Jamie commented as he swung the door open.

"What, Joey doesn't bother with little things like knocking anymore?"

Jamie managed a wobbly half-smile. "He doesn't knock so damned hard."

"Well, if you'd answered when I knocked politely, I wouldn't have _had_ to knock so damned hard." Danny took a close look at his brother. "Jeez, Jamie, you're a mess."

Jamie blew out a shaky breath. "I just can't stop thinking about... things."

"Me neither. Hence why I'm here. With the hot cocoa Linda insisted you would need." Danny held out a large Thermos. "Now, go change into your jammies, and we'll find a game to watch while we drink this."

Jamie crossed his arms across his chest in a futile attempt to hide their trembling and frowned. "I don't need a babysitter."

"No you don't. What you do need my wife's famous hot cocoa," Danny retorted. "And I'm not a babysitter."

"Danny, you can go home to your family. I'll be fine by myself. Fine." Jamie insisted.

"Really, kid? Tell me you're 'fine', without your voice shaking, without hugging yourself to keep your hands from shaking, and I'll turn around and walk right out that door. Leave you all alone, if that's what you want," Danny challenged.

Jamie forced his arms down to his sides and took several deep breaths, trying to force himself to relax, trying to still the trembling. It just wasn't working. And if he was honest with himself, he didn't want to be alone tonight. He swallowed hard. "No," he finally conceded. "You should stay for a while."

"Then go change already." Danny gestured back toward the small apartment's bedroom. "Go."

A few minutes later, Jamie returned, clad in a long-sleeve tee and flannel pants, and joined Danny on the sofa. He took the mug of cocoa from his brother and slurped down a sip. "I have to work tomorrow," he said as his noticed the liberal dose of Irish whiskey that had been added to the cocoa.

"Yeah, so do I." Danny raised his own mug. "One drink will be long gone by then."

"You have to drive tonight."

"Not if I'm staying here. Which I am, so don't bother arguing."

"Danny, really, I don't need a babysitter," Jamie repeated his earlier protest.

"What did I just say about arguing? Besides, I'm not here to babysit. I'm here to apologize for not protecting you… you and Joe both… back then." Danny paused. "I sure didn't do a very good job as big brother. You got abducted, Joe got banged up..."

"Danny, there's nothing you could have done. You weren't even there!" Jamie interrupted. "Besides, I think Joe was filling in for you as 'big brother'. I don't know how he got to the street that fast."

"Went out the window of the garage apartment. Twisted his ankle doing it, too," Danny informed him. "And still didn't think he done enough to save you."

Jamie took another swig of his cocoa. "God," he finally whispered. "You know, that's what kept me from completely losing it. Knowing Joe knew what had happened to me; that he'd tell everyone what he'd seen."

"That's what I told Joe at the hospital that night." Danny said. "Once I finished yelling at him for letting it happen in the first place."

"Joe didn't let me get kidnapped, Danny. He tried to stop them."

"I know that now. Knew it back then, really. He was just a convenient target for my anger. It wasn't my finest moment – wasn't any of our finest moment. Except maybe Joe's." Danny fell silent, remembering the awful scene that had greeted him when he and his partner had arrived at his family home that February evening in 1998.

-BB-BB-BB-

"Turn left at the next street," Danny Reagan ordered his partner. "It's the brick house…" Danny's voice trailed off as his partner turned the corner and slowed their patrol car to a stop as close as he could get to the Reagan home, the place Danny had always thought of as a safe haven from the craziness of the job. But tonight, it was surrounded by police vehicles and an ambulance, their flashing lights painting the normally quiet neighborhood garish shades of blue and red. Danny leapt from the car and began running toward the house, looking for his father or grandfather; anyone who could tell him just what the hell had happened. A detective pulled him aside before he found his family and tried to explain what they knew so far. His baby brother taken by two men in a tan minivan driven by a woman; his other brother, the only witness, injured during the abduction. No identification on any party, and no one had seen the van's license plate number. Danny saw Joe sitting on the curb, being attended to by the paramedics and his anger at the situation flared. He stormed over to his brother. "You couldn't get the license plate? How the hell do you even call yourself a cop?"

Joe had pointedly not looked up at him, which, thinking back, was the only excuse Danny could come up with for why he'd failed to see the scrapes and bruises on his brother's body. "Danny, I tried to stop them," Joe protested.

"The license plate, Joe. It's the one piece of information that could get Jamie back to us." He paced a few steps away from his brother, unable to stand still.

"I only saw the side of the van, until they took off and I was rolling on the street behind it," Joe shouted at his older brother's back. "At least I got a description of the van and the thugs. That's more than you did!"

"Because I wasn't here! You were!" Danny turned to face his brother. "You…" Whatever he'd been meaning to say died in his throat as he met the glare Joe had fixed on him and got his first look at the bloody scrape that crossed half his brother's forehead. He took a moment to glance over the rest of Joe's body, noticing the multiple other abrasions peeking through his shredded uniform. The focus of his anger abruptly shifted from Joe to the criminals who had hurt one brother and abducted the other. "I am going to kill them," Danny swore loudly. "They. Are. Dead."

"Enough, boys!" Henry Reagan suddenly appeared between Danny and Joe, gripping Danny's arm firmly and resting the other hand gently on Joe's shoulder. "This isn't helping Jamie, and can't you see your parents are upset enough without you two getting into it?"

For the first time, Danny noticed his parents standing nearby, being interviewed by a detective. His mother looked ready to collapse if it weren't for his father's arms wrapped tightly around her. He watched his father nod in response to some question asked by the detective; saw his mother clutch his father tighter and bury her face against his chest. Unable to contain his frustration, Danny turned away from his family and aimed a vicious kick at one of the ambulance's tires. He slumped against the ambulance, trying to stop his mind from presenting him with a Technicolor parade of all the horrible things that could be happening to his baby brother right now. He spun around and sent another kick toward the ambulance tire.

Henry was at his side again. "Danny, they're getting Joe loaded up now. Go to the hospital with him," he ordered.

Danny shook his head. "No. I need to be here."

"There are other officers here. Go watch out for Joe, in case..." his grandfather's voice trailed off. "In case Jamie wasn't their only target," he finally finished.

And that's what he'd done for the next seven hours. Watched out for his younger brother. He'd ridden with Joe in the ambulance, followed him from the ER treatment room to x-ray and back to the treatment room, where they now waited for the results of those scans. He'd sat by Joe's side, fists balled in anger, listening as a detective took Joe's witness statement detailing the mistreatment both brothers had suffered. He'd also kept in close contact with his grandfather who provided him with the same distressing update each time.

"Nothing." Danny stormed back into Joe's ER room. "They've got nothing."

"Somebody has to have seen something," Joe complained from the hospital bed. "I should've seen more... done more. Damn it. I should have stopped them."

Danny looked over his brother, taking in the temporary splints on his ankle and hand and the numerous bandages covering the abrasions from his impact with the road. "Joey, you wrenched your ankle trying to get to his side. You got your hand slammed in their van's door. You almost got run over by the same van. You did everything you could for Jamie."

Joe shook his head. "It wasn't enough." He laid his uninjured arm across his eyes. "He's gotta be terrified."

Danny pushed down his own fears for Jamie's safety. "Terrified? Nah, he's a Reagan. Scared, maybe. But not terrified."

"You didn't hear him scream when they Tasered him," Joe said hollowly. "You didn't see him lying in their van, twitching and moaning in pain."

Danny knew his brother was replaying those moments in his head, over and over. "Joe, look at me." Danny waited for his brother to comply before continuing. "Tasers hurt. You know that as well as I do, from the training we had," Danny said, trying to contain his anger that Jamie was now party to that knowledge. "But it doesn't hurt badly for very long, and it's not fatal. He'll be okay."

"You mean the training where one of your _buddies_ shocks you, and two more buddies catch you as you fall, help you down to the ground and tease you while you recover? That training?" Joe almost snapped at his brother. "Jamie has no one to help him. No one. He's all alone with people who've already shown they're willing to hurt him."

Danny tried to gather his thoughts. He couldn't argue with Joe's point. "Maybe. But Jamie knows you saw what happened and he'll know that means that every cop in this city is looking for him. Focus on that right now."

-BB-BB-BB-

"Danny?"

At the sound of Jamie's voice, Danny pushed the memories to the side. He raised his mug, clinking it into Jamie's. "To Joe."

"To Joe," Jamie responded, then downed the rest of his enhanced cocoa. "Refill?"

Danny picked up the Thermos and filled the mug. "It's just cocoa this time. I promise."

Jamie snickered. "And here I thought you were trying to get me drunk and have your way with me."

Danny punched Jamie in the shoulder. "You're not my type."

"Didn't know you had a type."

"Female non-relatives. More specifically, blondes named Linda who wear a wedding ring that matches the one on my finger," Danny elaborated. "You don't meet any of those qualifications." Danny chugged down the rest of his mug of cocoa and refilled it. He gestured toward the television. "Who's playing?"

"Don't know. It was the first basketball game I found." Jamie looked at the screen. "Denver Nuggets and San Antonio Spurs."

"The Denver _Nuggets_? What kind of lame team calls themselves the Nuggets? What, are they shaped and breaded chicken byproducts?"

"I think they mean gold nuggets. Shut up and enjoy the game," Jamie ordered. "Go Nuggets."

"Go Spurs," Danny cheered.

An hour later, after finishing off the last of the now-cooled cocoa, Jamie yawned and forced himself off the sofa. "I'd better get to bed. If you're staying, I'll get you some bedding and some more comfortable clothes."

"I'm staying, kid." Danny replied, stretching out on the sofa. "Just grab me a pillow and blanket and I'm good."

"Sounds like you're used to sleeping on the sofa," Jamie teased.

Danny chucked a throw pillow at his brother. "Go to bed, smartass."


	5. Chapter 4 - Memories: The Parents

Author Note: OK, I know I said I wasn't going to post chapters on Fridays, but it's almost not Friday anymore here. :) Enjoy!

* * *

 **CHAPTER 4 – MEMORIES: THE PARENTS**

REAGAN HOME, BAY RIDGE

Frank put down the book he was pretending to read and took one more look at his telephone, sitting silently on the end table beside him. He'd all but ordered Danny to Jamie's apartment with a Thermos of Linda's cocoa and instructions to call if Jamie got stubborn about accepting help from his family. So, in a way, no call was good news; it meant that his youngest son wouldn't be alone with the nightmares that were sure to return tonight.

At Frank's sigh, Henry looked up from the newspaper's crossword puzzle. "If you were going to worry that much, you should have made Jamie stay here," he commented.

"Should I also have Tasered him into submission and locked him in his room, like _she_ did?" Frank's reply came out sharper than he intended. "Pop, I'm sorry," he apologized at Henry's concerned look. "I'm trying to let Jamie be in control of his situation."

"And that's why you sent Danny over to Jamie's. Because big brother is going to respect his baby brother's need to be in control."

Frank shook his head. "No, because Danny at least had a chance of pushing his way in. I didn't. Jamie is too damn stubborn to admit he might need help from his father."

"I wonder where he got that stubbornness from," Henry teased.

Frank shook his head with a small smile. "I wouldn't have any idea." He picked up his phone and tucked it in his sweater pocket, just in case one of his sons decided to call. "Pop, I'm going to turn in."

"Good night, Francis," Henry replied.

Frank headed up the stairs to his bedroom. As he passed the door to Jamie's room, the only one of his children's rooms still mostly unchanged from when they'd occupied them, he paused for a minute, remembering that night from almost fifteen years earlier…

FEBRUARY 3, 1998, TUESDAY NIGHT

The house was quiet. Oppressively so, after the high level of activity of the few hours that had come before. So many people, with their associated vehicles and noises, had filled the neighborhood, doing whatever they could to help. But now the police cars were gone, except for one holding the two officers quietly keeping watch out front; the ambulance was gone, taking Joe to the hospital and Danny with him; the detectives were also gone after wrapping up their preliminary reports and tapping the phones. And Jamie was gone, taken by unknown abductors for unknown reasons. Only Henry and Betty, and he and Mary remained in the house, sitting in the living room, waiting. Waiting for word from Danny, for news from the detectives, for a ransom call, for anything. Henry was the only one who seemed to be able to take any action, occasionally walking out of the room to communicate with Danny or his contacts on the force.

"I can't take this anymore," Mary finally broke the silence that had settled on them after Henry's latest non-update. She headed out of the room and up the stairs.

Frank followed her a minute later. He found his wife standing outside the doorway to Jamie's room, clutching the doorframe for support, tears streaming down her face.

"It's after 11:00. After his bedtime." Mary stated flatly, staring at her youngest son's neatly-made, unoccupied bed.

Frank glanced down at his watch. 11:10PM. Jamie had been gone for seven hours and fifty minutes. The window in which most missing children were successfully found was closing fast. "I know," he said, gently laying his hands on his wife's shoulders.

"He should be here right now, finishing up his homework, arguing with us about staying up later. But he's not."

"Mary," he'd began to reply.

"Why? Why did they take Jamie?" Mary cried. "What could they want with a fifteen year old boy?"

That was the question Frank had been asking himself all evening, and he didn't want to put into words any of the horrific possibilities his professional experience suggested to him. "I don't know."

She spun around to face him. "You don't know who took him, or where he is, or what's happening to him."

"No, we don't..."

"They could be beating him right now, or torturing him, or molesting him, or..."

"Mary..."

"...they could have murdered him already. He could be lying dead somewhere and we wouldn't have any idea!" Mary finally finished at a near shriek.

"Mary, stop!" Frank snapped at his wife as her words vividly painted the pictures he'd been trying to force out of his mind all evening:

 _Jamie, his baby, cowering in a corner of some abandoned warehouse, futilely trying to avoid the fists thrown at his face, ribs, abdomen, and the boots aimed at his back and legs, as his abductors viciously punished him for some perceived wrong committed by the NYPD…_

 _Jamie, bound hand and foot to a chair, fighting against his bonds and watching wide-eyed while his captors filled a hypodermic with heroin or cocaine or speed, trembling and moaning in fear as they held down his arm and pushed the needle in, crying for help as he felt the drug start to take effect…_

 _Jamie, his bruised face pinned to a bedroom wall inside a run-down row house by a strong arm against the back of his neck, whimpering in terror between gasping breaths as one abductor tore at his clothing and whispered vile plans in his ear, while the other stood nearby, smiling evilly and awaiting his turn with their new plaything…_

 _Jamie, curled up shivering on a filthy mattress in the cold basement of some decaying structure, bloodied, bruised, hurting, afraid, begging for his Daddy to save him before they came back…_

 _Jamie, lying cold and still and silent on the frozen dirt of a vacant lot in a spreading puddle of blood, beyond the ability of any earthly power's help…_

"Stop," Frank whispered again, to himself as much as to Mary. He pulled his wife into a tight hug, holding her as she cried into his chest. He tried to force the terrifying images out of his head by picturing his best-case scenario. _Jamie's fine. They've changed their minds and left him alone in the back of their van, probably restrained, and he's doing his best to get free while he waits for us to rescue him_ , he tried to convince himself. _Good Lord, how bad is the situation when my best-case scenario involves my son being bound and abandoned?_ "Mary, we can't let the worst case scenarios drive us straight to despair. We have to believe we'll hear something soon."

"Frank, I want him back," Mary sobbed.

"I know. More than anything, I want him to come walking through the door, safe and unharmed."

Mary sniffled. "And when he does, he is not becoming a cop. You pulled Danny and Joe into your life; I'm not going to have to worry about Jamie that same way. He's going to college, then he's following Erin to law school."

Frank couldn't come up with a reply. Right now, locking Jamie up in the ivory towers of academia and throwing away the key seemed like a great idea. He just hoped his youngest son still had a future for them to be planning.

Henry interrupted their embrace at that moment, calling up the stairs that a detective from the 15th was on the phone with news. Frank sprinted down the stairs, followed by his wife. The 15th. Staten Island. What was the name of the lead detective out there? Vickers. That was it. He grabbed up the phone. "Detective Vickers, this is Reagan," he'd answered. "What do you have?"

"Chief, a John DiMarco walked into the station fifteen minutes ago and confessed to participating in the abduction of your son."

Frank ran the name through his head. It didn't ring any bells. "He did."

"Yes, sir. He's a private detective out of Rochester, and his story is that a woman by the name of Marjorie Abernathy came to him a few weeks ago. Claimed her son had been kidnapped by his non-custodial father and she needed help to kidnap him back. Apparently showed DiMarco court documents that purported to show she had custody, and hired him to, quote, 'get her son back home to her.' Said she knew where he lived, what name his father was making him use. Even showed him pictures she claimed were of her son."

"Jamie."

"Yes, sir. DiMarco claims he thought it was all legit, so he and his associates grabbed Jamie and delivered him to Ms. Abernathy. We're working on tracking down who she is right now. Does that name mean anything to you?"

"Not that I can recall, no." Frank felt his heart dropping. All the detectives' efforts so far had focused on finding the kidnappers, with the idea that Jamie would be with them. And that lead had just dried up. The kidnappers had handed Jamie off to someone else – Marjorie Abernathy, if that was even her real name; of Rochester, if that was really where she was from. They weren't any closer to finding Jamie; in fact they were further away than before.

"Sir, two items of good news. First, Ms. Abernathy kept the minivan also, so we can still work that angle. More importantly, DiMarco says Jamie was alive and relatively uninjured when they delivered him."

"Explain 'relatively'," Frank interrupted, needing to know what harm his youngest son had suffered.

"I'm sure you heard they Tasered him during the snatch, plus some minor bumps and bruises from bouncing around the back of their minivan, from what this guy says."

"I see." Frank replied neutrally, knowing his family was listening to every word.

"Sir, it sounds like this Abernathy woman, whoever she is, went to some trouble to get your son alive, so maybe she's not planning to harm him. The detective assigned to the case – Tom Halsey – is on his way, but if you want to come interview DiMarco yourself, Sir, I'll understand."

Frank thought it over, weighing the benefit of laying eyes on the person who had taken his son (or, he thought darkly, laying hands on said person), versus staying with his family. "Thank you, Detective. I trust you to ask the right questions. I may have some additional questions for him tomorrow, however." He concluded the conversation and hung up the phone. He tried to think of what to say before finally turning to face his anxious family.

"Son?" Henry asked as the silence grew.

"He's alive." Frank finally said. "At least he was a few hours ago, and they have reason to believe he'll stay that way."

Mary collapsed against her husband, sobbing in relief, while Frank filled the family in on the detective's report.

It was at that moment that Danny and Joe had arrived back home, driven home from the hospital by Erin and her husband. Danny had taken one look around the room, seen his grandmother crying quietly and his mother sobbing in his father's arms and had assumed the worst. "No. _No._ He can't be dead?"

Frank was peripherally aware of Henry quickly stepping over to where Danny, Joe and Erin stood in the doorway and talking to them briefly. He saw Danny slump back against the doorframe; heard his son's muffled moan as he pressed his hands over his face.

Mary pulled herself loose of Frank's embrace. "Oh, Joey..." she said as she moved to hug her middle son. She stepped back, taking in the casts and bandages decorating Joe's body. She wiped tears out of her eyes. "Joey, you should be lying down. Frank, get Joe settled on the couch. Joe, do you need anything – food, water?" Mary immediately started fussing over her injured son.

"I could use a sandwich or something. Joe could too. The hospital didn't feed us." Danny cut in. He followed his mother toward the kitchen.

"I could use enough whiskey to forget this day," Joe muttered as Frank helped him over to the couch and propped his bandaged ankle up on an ottoman. He leaned his head back against the couch and closed his eyes. "Dad, I'm so sorry. I should've stopped them. I failed Jamie. I failed you. I failed the NYPD. What good am I as a cop if I can't even stop my own brother from being kidnapped right in front of me?"

Frank finished pouring a small drink for Joe. He pressed the glass into his son's hand, then sat down on the edge of his chair. "Before you beat yourself up any further, tell me what you could have done differently."

Joe swirled the amber liquid around the glass, watching the wave patterns it made, as he tried to gather his thoughts. "Jamie was fighting back against them. He's slowed them down. If I hadn't landed wrong jumping out of the window, if I could have just run faster, I'd have gotten to him in time, before they had a chance to hit him with the Taser. I could've held on tighter to the van's door. If I just had a few more seconds, I could've got inside." He drained the glass and slammed it down on the side table. "Just a few more damn seconds, and Jamie wouldn't be alone with those criminals right now."

"And, best case, I'd now have two missing sons instead of just one," Frank commented. "And we wouldn't have any information on what happened to your brother. You have nothing to apologize for."

"Dad, you've got to let me help the detectives find Jamie. Please, I've got to do something to help him, and I'm obviously not going to be any good on the street for a while, not with these casts. I'll do anything they need."

Frank nodded. "I'll see what I can do. I'm assuming Danny wants to be involved, also?"

Joe laughed humorlessly. "He's already threatened to quit and go out on his own if you can't find a place for him."

-BB-BB-BB-

And he had found places for both Joe and Danny to help. It had taken pulling in a few favors, but it had been worth it to know he had the right people looking for Jamie. The family always pulled together when crisis threatened. Just like they were doing tonight. Frank turned away from Jamie's room and headed for his own bed, secure in the knowledge that his sons were protecting each other.


	6. Chapter 5 - What Happened

**CHAPTER 5 – WHAT HAPPENED  
**

OCTOBER 10, 2012, EARLY AM – JAMIE REAGAN'S APARTMENT, MANHATTAN

 _"Let me out, let me out. Please, let me go."_

The sounds of the doorknob rattling and Jamie's moaning pleas awakened Danny only a few hours after he'd fallen into a light sleep on his brother's couch. Danny was on his feet and at his brother's side within seconds. "Jamie, let's get you back to bed," he told his sleepwalking brother.

Jamie glanced his direction, his gaze focused somewhere beyond Danny. "I gotta get out." He returned to fumbling with the doorknob.

Danny suddenly understood why his father had asked him to stay over at Jamie's tonight. Jamie didn't look like he was connecting with the real world at all. "Out is that way," he told Jamie, pointing back toward the bedroom.

Jamie ignored him and yanked at the door again. "Gotta get out," he almost sobbed, frantically twisting the doorknob and pulling on the door. Apparently, he'd forgotten that the door had a keyed deadbolt. Danny was glad he had that key in his pants pocket. He was even more glad he'd snuck into Jamie's room earlier, taken his brother's off-duty weapon and hidden it deep underneath the couch cushions. An armed sleepwalking brother was the last thing he needed.

"Come on baby brother, time to go back to bed." Danny wrapped one arm around Jamie's shoulders, gently gripped Jamie's wrist with his other hand and tried to move him away from the door. Jamie fought back more strongly than Danny had anticipated, clumsily swinging an elbow back toward Danny's ribs. Danny grabbed his brother in a firm hug, pinning his arms to his sides. "Jamie, relax. You're safe. The only place you need to go is back to your bed," he encouraged.

"No, no! Please, let me out," Jamie whimpered as he twisted in Danny's grip. "I gotta get out."

Danny tightened his grip on his brother. "Jamie, wake up," he growled as his brother continued to resist. "Jamie!"

With a startled gasp, Jamie finally seemed to return to awareness. "Danny? Wha'?" Jamie looked around the room, apparently surprised to find himself out of bed.

"Nightmare. Sleepwalking."

Jamie pulled himself free of Danny's grasp, walked to the sofa and sat down heavily. "Not again."

"Dad told me you had some real bad ones those first weeks after you got back home. Said you even ended up outside in the snow once."

"Which is why he ordered you to stay here tonight." Jamie quickly figured it out.

Danny shrugged. "You'll make detective in no time, kid." He sat down next to Jamie on the sofa. "So what was tonight's nightmare about?"

Jamie hesitated. "Same as always. The actual abduction. Being trapped in that attic at _her_ house. Trying to get out. It's like my brain picks bits and pieces from my memory and jumbles them together into a nightmare."

"You wanna tell me about it?"

"Not really," Jamie muttered.

"Yes you do. It'll make you feel better. At least, that's what all those girly talk shows claim."

Jamie snickered. The two brothers sat in silence for a minute, then Jamie finally started speaking. "It's all so stupid. The whole mess could've been avoided if I had just been paying attention to what was going on around me instead of thinking about... other stuff…"

"Girls?" Danny inserted.

"Girl. Just the one girl, Danny." Jamie rolled his eyes. "But I'm sure you know the next part. Their driver pulled up to the curb, pretended she needed directions, and then the two thugs grabbed me, hit me with their Taser and tossed me into the van and drove away. I had no idea where we were, where we were going. I tried to keep track but we drove for so long... Every time we hit a bump in the road or make a turn, I'd bounce around and hit something. I tried to get out once, you know."

"I know," Danny replied. "I remember seeing that in the report."

"They were up in the front, arguing about something, and I tried to get to the door. I got a grip on the handle before one of them grabbed me from behind and tossed me across the van. That's when they tied my arms down at my waist, and tied my feet together, and blindfolded and gagged me..." Jamie's voice trailed off.

"God, Jamie." Danny wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulders, imagining how hard Jamie would have fought against being bound like that; how absolutely helpless he must have felt once the kidnappers had succeeded in restraining him.

"Later, after they'd driven around more, I heard them talking. Saying they were going to demand more money because 'she' hadn't told them there was a cop in the family. Then they finally stopped somewhere…"

"Forrest Glen Cemetery." Danny interrupted, as if that fact was somehow important.

"Yeah. They stopped there, and they all got out of the car. I thought maybe that was it; maybe the whole thing was just some scare tactic and they were going to leave me there. I tried to make a racket, kicked at the side of the van and hoped that someone would hear, but one of them hopped back into the van, pressed that Taser into my chest and told me to cool it." Jamie shrugged. "So, I cooled it."

"Smart decision," Danny tried to reassure his brother. "With all the adrenaline running through your system, Taser to the chest could've damaged you heart."

"Then he apologized for the rough treatment and said something about how I'd be back with my 'real family' soon. And about then, she showed up."

"I remember the security video." Danny stated. The video that had captured shadowy images of the kidnappers confronting Marjorie Thornsberg near her family's mausoleum in the cemetery, and the tense conversation between that P.I. DiMarco and Ms. Thornsberg which ended with her whipping out her wallet and paying DiMarco more money as casually as if she was buying a new dress and not Jamie's life.

"They were right outside the van negotiating. One of them kept threatening to just let me go if she didn't pay up. I kept hoping he'd win. But I guess she had enough money..." Jamie shuddered.

"An extra five K, in case you were wondering. That's how much more they got for their trouble."

"And then, when they'd finished their business, she got in the van and drove me away. Didn't say a word until we got to her house, and then only to demand I get out of the van." Jamie continued. "I tried to fight back. Pushed myself into the back corner of the van and refused to move, but…"

"She had the Taser, didn't she?" Danny asked.

Jamie nodded. "She pressed it into my shoulder and threatened to use it if I didn't cooperate. And after she took a couple of instant photos, untied my feet and ordered me out of the van, she kept it against my back the whole time she was walking me up to that attic. I couldn't see, couldn't tell her I was trying my best to do what she said. Somehow, she got me up all those stairs into the attic. Shoved me into that room…" Jamie paused for a minute as the overwhelming anxiety from those moments crept back into his mind. "And that's when she really did Taser me. After I'd done everything she asked. Tasered me and locked me in that attic room."

Danny winced and tightened his grip on Jamie's shoulders. Somehow, hearing Jamie recount the events was a hundred times... a thousand times worse than reading the dispassionate reports.

"I guess I must have lost consciousness for a few minutes, because the next thing I remember, I was lying on the floor and my hands were untied. I ripped the blindfold and gag off, and ran to the door, but it was locked and wouldn't budge an inch, no matter how hard I pulled. I tried the windows, too, but they were locked and barred – these heavy iron bars that wouldn't move at all no matter how hard I yanked them. And it was so dark outside. I couldn't see any other buildings around. No way out, and no one to hear if I yelled for help."

"Relax. You're okay. Remember that you got out safe," Danny soothed as Jamie's breathing picked up until he was almost hyperventilating.

"That was the focus of tonight's nightmare," Jamie continued a minute later. "Being locked in that room, except in the nightmare she was there with some kind of weapon and kept threatening to use it. And I couldn't get out." Jamie leaned forward, resting his head on his hands. "And that's where you woke me up."

Danny rubbed his brother's shaking back. "Glad I could help. And remember that you did get away. Helped us get that Thornsberg shrew into custody. And if there had been an opportunity earlier, I'm sure you would've been long gone."

"Right," Jamie said distantly, a confused frown briefly crossing his features.

Danny frowned. There was that odd look again; the one that had convinced the family that Jamie wasn't telling them everything about his captivity; the one that the psychologist Jamie had seen back then said was indicative of a blocked memory. Danny pushed that thought away for the moment. "Right, kiddo. You're here, I'm here, and Marjorie Thornsberg is probably as far away from us Reagans as she can get."

"I hope so."

"If she's smart, she is." Danny said. "Hey, did I ever tell you about how we caught her?"

"I'm sure you did."

"You need a nice happy bedtime story." Danny grabbed his pillow and laid it against his leg. "Lie down and I'll tell you all about how the heroic cops thwarted the crazy hag's plans."

Jamie shot his brother a look. "I'm not one of your boys, Danny. Bedtime stories won't work."

Danny patted the pillow. "Humor me."

With a roll of his eyes, Jamie complied, adjusting his frame on the sofa. "Fine. But if you start singing lullabies, I'm out of here."

"What? Sean used to adore my rendition of 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.'"

"The real one, or your _special_ version?" Jamie asked. " _Tinkle, tinkle, little star,_ " he sang quietly.

" _Raindrops, that's just what they are. Drops of pee fall from the sky. Trying to hit you in the eye,_ " Danny picked up before he broke out laughing. "I can't believe you remember that."

"What I remember is how much trouble you got in when Mom heard about it."

"And she wouldn't have if you hadn't flipped out leaving church that day."

"It was raining, and my older siblings had convinced me that raindrops were star piss!" Jamie snipped.

"Good thing we never finished the second verse."

"Second verse?"

"Erin, Joe and I were working on a second verse, about hailstones being lunar doo-doo, but…"

"… but you decided you'd grossed out your little brother enough with one verse?"

"Nah. We couldn't make it rhyme. But let me tell my story. Once upon a time, there was a top cop who had three sons: the eldest, an extremely handsome, heroic cop... shaddup," Danny interrupted his story at Jamie's snort, "and a middle son, an almost as handsome but smarter cop, and a youngest son, a schoolboy who got all the smarts but none of the looks."

"I got all the looks, too."

"In your dreams, kid. But where was I? Okay. One day a crazy bit..."

"Biddy," Jamie interrupted. "You can't use the other word in bedtime stories."

"...a crazy 'biddy' took the youngest son of the city's top cop, and hid him somewhere in the big city. Then the bi...ddy told the top cop what she'd done, but nobody knew where she was or where she'd hidden the kid. It was like that Rapunzel story, since the kid had let his hair grow long on top."

"That was the 'in' look back then. And I made it look good."

"Just. Like. Rapunzel." Danny continued, fluffing Jamie's now much-shorter hair. He left his hand lying on his brother's forehead.

"It wasn't that long," Jamie protested again. "Ear length."

"Whatever. Getting back to the story, the top cop's two older sons, the extremely handsome one and the less-handsome-but-smarter one, joined forces with the big, gruff detective and his charming assistant detective and started scouring the city for the kid and the crazy biddy.

"They talked to the trolls the biddy had hired to take the kid, but the biddy, as crazy as she was, wasn't stupid and she'd had covered her tracks well enough that that didn't lead anywhere. They watched hours and hours of traffic cameras, trying to track where the car the thugs used went, but that didn't pan out either. There were just too many tan minivans, and too many gaps in the camera coverage.

"Meanwhile, the less-handsome-but-smarter cop and the charming assistant detective were looking at property records, checking piles and piles of dusty records to find any place she might be hiding the kid. They put together a long, long list of places to look, because the crazy old biddy was extremely rich crazy old biddy and owned lots and lots of buildings. Then the extremely handsome cop and the gruff detective visited every one of those properties, scouring building in Manhattan and Long Island and Brooklyn and Queens and lots of other places all over the big city. But they couldn't find any sign of the biddy or the kid. Days passed, and a cloud of gloom settled over the city..."

"It was a cloud of _snow_. A snowstorm." Jamie followed up his comment with a huge yawn.

"Hey, who's telling this story? I am, so I'll tell it how I want," Danny retorted. "As I was saying, a cloud of gloom settled over the city, and people began to wonder if they'd ever get the kid back. Refusing to give up, the moderately handsome smart cop and the charming assistant detective went back to the dusty old records, hoping to find something they'd missed the first time.

"They ran the property searches again and came up with the same list of places they had already checked. But they knew there had to be another place. So they checked all sorts of other dusty records at the courthouse, and found out the crazy biddy had used several other names. Of course, they'd already checked her maiden name and the married name she was using. They found out that she'd changed her name 'just because' when she was a crazy young biddy, but there weren't any property records under that name. He also found that the crazy biddy had somehow convinced not one but two poor saps to marry her, and they hadn't looked for any records under her first married name. So they looked through the dusty old property records one more time.

"And there it was. The crazy biddy had inherited an old house while she was married to the first sap, and after he'd wised up and left her, she never bothered to change the name on the deed. The house was way out on the edge of the city, the perfect place for hiding somebody.

"The less-handsome-but-smarter cop got that information to his extremely handsome brother and the gruff detective, and they got a search warrant for the house. They drove out to that address on Long Island and there was the kid, locked up in the attic of a big old mansion. The extremely handsome cop and the detective rushed into the house and… and arrested the biddy and rescued the kid, and the whole family had a happy reunion. The End." Danny finished quickly as a quiet snore indicated Jamie had fallen asleep.

Danny leaned his head back against the couch and let out a heavy breath, hoping they both would sleep through the rest of the night. Jamie's nightmares were focused on the beginning of the ordeal; his focused on the end and the what if's. What if the detective hadn't listened to Joe when he insisted they keep looking for other names and other property records? What if they hadn't got that information in time? What if they'd been just a few seconds slower once they got to the scene? Danny let himself remember how the rescue had gone down, trying to focus on the happy ending.

FEBRUARY 9, 1998

Detective Halsey pulled his sedan to a stop in front of the lavish Victorian house on Long Island, on the very edge of New York City. He turned off the car and glanced over at Danny. "Officer Reagan, are you sure you want to do this? We don't know what we're going to find, if anything."

Danny nodded, barely holding in his anxiousness to get moving, to search this property from top to bottom and either find his brother alive or find nothing. Those were the only possibilities he was even considering. The worrisome message dispatch had relayed from his father as they drove to this house only added to his sense of urgency. "If you don't find Jamie, Chief Reagan asks that you go to your family home afterwards. He'll meet you there," the dispatcher had told him. A midday family meeting in the midst of a crisis couldn't mean good news; if his father was pulling the family together, pulling him away from the search for Jamie, he had bad news to share. But surely he would tell them if Jamie had been found dead; they wouldn't make them keep searching. Which meant something else had changed. A new ransom demand? Whatever had happened, his father wanted the family to hear it from him…

"Reagan?" Detective Halsey's voice cut into his thoughts.

"Yes, sir. Let's go."

"Okay. But remember, we're just here to talk to her right now, and serve the search warrant so we can take a look around." The detective disembarked from his car.

Danny also got out, looking over the three-story mansion as he closed the car door. God, he hoped Jamie was here. This was the last address Joe had managed to find, and if Jamie wasn't here, they had no idea where to look next. He and Halsey had already spent most of a week searching the city for Jamie, and with every passing day, the possibility that his baby brother was lost forever loomed larger.

Movement in an attic dormer caught his eye and drove that despairing thought right out of his head. "Jamie!" he shouted, as he saw his brother in the window, pounding frantically on the glass. He set off toward the house at a run.

"Shit!" Detective Halsey cursed and grabbed Danny's arm. "Reagan, stop! Get your brother to pipe down before we have an active hostage situation here!"

Danny stopped as if he'd been frozen in ice as the detective's words filtered through his mind. If Jamie's actions got the attention of Marjorie Thornsberg before they could get to Jamie... "Hell, no." He waved up at Jamie, put one finger to his lips and gestured to his brother to stay down. As soon as Jamie acknowledged, Danny jogged after Detective Halsey, who was already halfway to the front door.

"Stay calm, Reagan. She doesn't know we're onto her," the Detective advised Danny as they approached the massive front door. "Ms. Thornsberg?" he called as he knocked on the door.

Danny tried to contain his impatience as they waited for a response. They were so close... so dammed close to getting Jamie back safely, but there was so much that could go wrong in the next few minutes...

Detective Halsey knocked again. "Marjorie Thornsberg?"

Looking through one of the sidelight windows, Danny saw a middle-aged woman walk into the entry foyer carrying a brown paper bag featuring the logo of a local deli. Danny saw her spot him through the same window, hesitate and then run for the stairs, dropping the deli bag as she ran. "Detective, she's seen us! She's running for Jamie!" he called out.

"Kick it," Detective Halsey ordered.

Danny wasted no time in forcibly opening the door and running inside. Marjorie Thornsberg looked down at them from the second story landing, brandishing an old-fashioned rifle – a freaking antique, Danny thought – down at the two officers.

"You can't be here! Not yet!" Marjorie turned and ran toward the next staircase. "I don't have answers yet," her voice floated down as she pounded up the stairs.

Danny sprinted up the stairs, followed by the detective. He rounded the top of the stairs and bounded up the next flight to the third floor. "Jamie, watch out! She's on her way up!" he yelled, hoping Jamie could hear him and was able to take action to protect himself. Gun out, he quickly scanned the area, looking for where Marjorie had gone. An opening on the paneled wall to his left led to a narrow flight of stairs leading up to the attic. Keeping his back to the wall, he carefully climbed the staircase. He heard Detective Halsey join him, but didn't take the time to look behind him. Finally, he was high enough to see into the attic. Marjorie Thornsberg held the rifle in the crook of one arm and was busily working the deadbolts on a door. "Drop the gun, Marjorie," he barked as he continued to edge up the stairs.

Marjorie Thornsberg whipped around and raised the rifle into firing position. "Chief Reagan isn't getting his son back unless I get justice for mine!" she screamed.

Danny took a step into the attic, followed by Halsey. "Drop it," he repeated

Marjorie just smiled and stepped backwards toward the door, and Danny realized in horror that it was unlatched. "Jamie!" he yelled as Marjorie opened the door behind her and walked one step backwards into the room.

Danny was closing his finger on his gun's trigger when the door was forcefully slammed shut, hitting Marjorie in the back and causing her to stumble forward. She fell to her knees, dropping the rifle from her hands as she fell. Detective Halsey ran past Danny and quickly handcuffed the struggling woman. "I've got her. Go see to you brother!" he called out.

Danny sprinted to door of the attic room and carefully pushed it open. "Jamie, it's me. I'm coming in," he said quietly, not wanting to get a face full of door if his brother decided to use it as a weapon again.

"Danny?" Jamie called weakly from behind him.

Danny turned around to find his baby brother leaning heavily against the wall, trembling, panting for breath between shaky laughs. "Yeah, Jamie, it's me."

"You guys got her?" Jamie asked around a gasping chuckle. "Right? You got her?"

"Of course we got her. Nice move with the door," Danny replied. Recognizing the symptoms of surging adrenaline, and the emotional roller coaster that went along with it, he pulled Jamie away from the wall into what he meant to be a short, reassuring hug. Instead, Jamie yelped in pain and stumbled into his arms, and Danny found himself supporting his brother's weight. He tightened his grip around his brother's shaking body. "Kid, you okay?"

"Messed up my ankle." Jamie winced as he tried to regain his balance.

Danny glanced down at his brother's leg and saw the makeshift splint Jamie had fashioned from a newspaper and his belt. "Okay. Let's get you sitting down." Danny helped Jamie hop over to the bed and gently lowered him down before dropping down next to him. He kept one arm wrapped around his brother's back as the adrenaline-fueled tremors continued. Or were they from the cold? The attic room was apparently not well insulated. He pulled off his uniform jacket and draped it around Jamie's slender shoulders. "Hey, it's over. You're safe now," Danny tried to reassure his brother.

Detective Halsey looked in the doorway. "Reagan, I've got backup on the way. Did she have an accomplice?"

Danny looked at his brother. "Jamie?"

Jamie shook his head. "Don't know. She's the only person I saw here." He pulled Danny's jacket tighter around his body.

The detective looked Jamie over, noting the newspaper strapped around his lower left leg. "Do we need a bus?"

"Yes," Danny replied. "Ankle injury." Danny looked over his brother as Halsey updated Dispatch. "Jamie, are you hurt anywhere else?"

Jamie shook his head. "I wanna go home, not to the hospital." As his adrenaline levels crashed and the tremors subsided, Jamie was leaning more and more heavily against his brother, resting his head on Danny's shoulder.

Danny squeezed Jamie's shoulder. "Didn't really answer the question, kid."

Jamie sighed. "Mostly just the ankle." He looked up at Danny. "Can we at least call Mom and Dad?"

"They'll meet us at the hospital." Danny told Jamie. "But I think we could give them a call now." He pulled out his phone and dialed his parent's number. "I'll put them on speaker phone," he told Jamie as the phone rang.

"Reagan residence," his father answered.

"Dad! It's Danny. Guess who I've got here with me?" Danny pulled his brother closer.

"Well, based on what we just heard from dispatch, Jamie?"

"Dad," Jamie barely choked out.

"Jamie, thank God. Are you okay, son?" Frank asked.

"Yeah, Dad, I'm fine."

"He's okay, Pop. Looks like he sprained an ankle somewhere along the way, but he's doing fine," Danny interrupted.

"Good. I'm going to hand the phone over to your mother now, before she rips it out of my hands." The brothers heard their father telling their mother Jamie was okay, then Mary's voice came on the line.

"Jamie, sweetie, I'm so glad you're safe!" Mary exclaimed.

"Mommy," Jamie almost whimpered, curling forward in an attempt to stifle the sob that threatened to escape.

"Sweetie, we'll see you at the hospital soon, and I'll give you a big hug. Danny, hug your brother for me now."

"Ma," Danny griped, but he complied with his mother's order, wrapping his arm around Jamie's neck and pulling him closer to his chest.

"Hey, brothers!" Joe's voice came over the speakerphone. "Jamie, you're okay?"

"Joe!" Jamie perked up and tried to pull himself free of Danny's grip. Unsuccessfully. "I'm fine, if Danny would quit strangling me. You're okay? I thought... Didn't their van hit you?" Jamie asked frantically.

"Nothing but a few bumps and bruises." Joe replied. "Oh, and Erin would say, 'Hi, baby brother,' but she's too busy bawling her eyes out. Ouch!" Joe yelped. "And slapping people. Those post-pregnancy hormones have her crazier than normal."

"Hello, Jamie," Erin's tremulous voice carried over the phone line.

Danny saw Detective Halsey standing at the door. "Guys, we gotta go. Detective Halsey needs to talk to Jamie. I'll call you back when I know which hospital we're going to."

-BB-BB-BB-

The hospital. Danny refocused his memory on one aspect of that trip – the presence of a sweet little blonde ER nurse named Linda. He drifted off to sleep thinking about the woman he'd eventually made his wife.


	7. Chapter 6 - Threats Old and New

**CHAPTER 6 – THREATS OLD AND NEW**

OCTOBER 10, 2012 – WEDNESDAY

Danny woke up the next morning to the smell of coffee brewing. "Ugh," he groaned, as his stiff neck protested movement. Sitting upright on Jamie's couch was not the most comfortable sleeping position, he quickly decided.

At the sound, Jamie turned away from the coffee maker. "Good morning to you, too."

Danny rolled his head, trying to work the kinks out of his neck. "Aren't you the chipper one this morning," he groused.

"Slept pretty well the second time. You're good at telling bedtime stories," Jamie teased. He carried two mugs of coffee across the room. "Here. Coffee will make it better."

Danny took the mug with grumbled thanks, grateful that at least one of them was ready to face the new day.

-BB-BB-BB-

Across town, a similar scene was playing out in a brick colonial house. "I don't know which woke me up - the racket of you grinding coffee beans or the aroma," Henry remarked as he ambled into the kitchen where Frank was pouring coffee into two mugs. "In my day, coffee was silent; stealthy even. You could have a pot brewing and no one would even know."

"Well, Pop, with that coffee, no one would want to know." Frank took a sip of his morning caffeine. "I wonder how Jamie handled last night," he pondered as he looked out the window.

"Poor kid. He'd put that whole mess behind him so well," Henry remarked as he took his own mug.

"He had. But last night brought back a lot of memories for me, and I'm sure for Jamie and Danny also," Frank commented. "Mary... This is one more event I'm glad she's not here to witness."

"The kidnapping really hit her hard," Henry added.

"Her baby boy missing, and none of us had any idea why."

"Until you got to work the next morning."

"Until then…"

FEBRUARY 4, 1998, WEDNESDAY AM

After Detective Vickers' call, Frank had attempted to convince the family to turn in for the rest of the night, arguing that he would be contacted if there was any news. The next morning, he'd headed to work, leaving his injured son in the care of his distraught wife. He'd arrived at his office to find one of his detectives and a homeless man in the reception area.

"Chief Reagan, this man has something to tell you," the detective stated.

"The woman aksed me to git this to you," the man said, holding out a manila envelope to Frank. "She paid me the money to be here firs' thing and hand this to you pers'nally."

Frank almost ripped the envelope out of the man's hand and quickly opened the clasp on the back. He shook the two items inside out onto the receptionist's desk. The first item was a Polaroid photograph. Frank picked it up by the edges, mentally bracing himself for what he expected he would see. Even so, his first glimpse of the snapshot knocked the air out of his lungs as effectively as a punch from a Golden Gloves champ. The picture showed a teenage boy sitting against what appeared to be the back corner of a minivan, his knees drawn up to his chest, ankles bound together, a blindfold and gag obscuring much of his face. Reddish-brown hair fell across the boy's forehead, reaching down to the top of the blindfold. A familiar nose and cheekbones peeked through the strips of material that covered the boy's eyes and mouth, and the Reagan jawline and chin showed beneath the gag.

"It's Jamie," he said, trying to push down the horror at seeing his son in that defenseless position, his life completely in someone else's control. He placed his hands on the desk and leaned forward, closing his eyes and taking a few breaths to steady himself. _He's alive, with no visible injuries. Focus. You can work with alive_ , he told himself. He forced himself to take another look at the snapshot, noticing this time that Jamie sat with his shoulders squared, his chin tilted up. _Alive and defiant_ , he amended his previous assessment.

Something else in the photo caught his attention. Jamie was still clad in the flannel shirt over a t-shirt and jeans that Mary had described to the detectives. With his knees tucked up, his sock-covered feet and ankles stuck out beneath the hem of his jeans. _No shoes. They took his shoes. Why?_ Frank wondered. One possibility came to mind immediately. _Because he tried to escape. My stubborn boy tried to run, so they took his shoes and trussed him up so he couldn't try again._ The evidence that Jamie was keeping mentally together enough to resist his captors was encouraging, but he hoped his son wouldn't push it too far. Jamie needed to stay alive so they could rescue him. After one last look, he handed the photograph to the detective, who carefully placed it in an evidence bag.

"Chief, do you want to see the ransom note?" the detective asked.

No, Frank thought, no, he didn't want to see that note. Because right now, a very large part of him wanted to do whatever it asked. Throw open the jailhouse gates, rob a damn bank, assassinate the police commissioner, whatever it took to get his son back safely. But he knew he had to read it. He stood up and held out his hand to the detective, and silently read the words written in flowing handwriting on the expensive paper.

 _Chief Reagan,_

 _My son, Andrew Parker Carrington, was murdered last year. You have done nothing to find those who took him away from me. I want justice for my son. To further that purpose, I have taken your son and will give him back to you once you have found those who took my son from me._

 _Sincerely, Marjorie Thornsberg_

-BB-BB-BB-

"I can still see every detail of that photograph, every detail of that note, right down to the flourishes on her signature." Frank commented as he stared out the window. He suddenly put his mug down. "That's her, isn't it?" he asked.

Henry looked out the window. "What the hell?" He looked at the woman standing at the end of their driveway. "What is she doing here?"

Frank was already pulling on an overcoat. "I'm going to find out." He headed out the door.

Instead of making a move to depart, Marjorie Thornsberg held her ground at the end of the driveway, staring at him as he approached.

"Mrs. Thornsberg, my son doesn't live here anymore. He's grown up and moved out on his own."

Marjorie continued staring at him. "I know that, Commissioner. It's so interesting, what you can learn on that internet. I know Jameson Regan graduated from the police academy. I know he lives in Manhattan. I haven't found his address or his phone number yet, but I will." She paused to pull her coat more tightly around her thin frame.

Frank interrupted her rant. "Mrs. Thornsberg, I would advise you against making any threats against my family."

"I know your middle son was killed and that you got justice for him," Marjorie continued as if Frank hadn't spoken. "What I don't know is why, in all those years, you haven't found those responsible for my son's death."

"Mrs. Thornsberg, I'm going to ask you to leave. If I see you around my family, I will take whatever steps necessary to protect them."

Marjorie stared at him before turning around and walking to a minivan… _that_ minivan… parked on the street in front of the neighbor's house. "This isn't over," she called over her shoulder. "I always keep my word."

Frank made note of the vehicle's license plate, then slowly walked back to the house. He wasn't looking forward to the phone call he needed to make. Not at all... He picked up his phone and dialed his son's cell number. "Danny, we need to have a meeting in my office forthwith."

-BB-BB-BB-

An hour later, Jamie and Danny found themselves seated in front of their father's desk in his office at One Police Plaza. "So, Dad, what was so important that you're making us late to work?" Danny asked.

Franks looked over at his sons. Danny looked tired, like he hadn't slept well; Jamie also looked tired, but more rested than he had expected. "How was your night last night?"

Jamie shrugged. "Same old nightmare and sleepwalking. Danny stopped me before I could get out the door."

"He needs a better couch," Danny griped. "That one he has isn't any good for sleeping on."

Frank hated to say the words he needed to. "Marjorie Thornsberg showed up at the house this morning."

Danny jumped to his feet. "She did _what_? What did she want?"

"Danny, sit down." Frank ordered. "She was standing at the end of the driveway, staring at the house when I was getting my coffee this morning. I went out and confronted her, but she didn't have anything new to say. She's still looking for 'justice' for her son. She's keeping up with the family; she knew I was the commissioner, she knew about Joe." Frank looked over at his youngest son, who was suddenly sitting up much straighter, waves of tension radiating from him. He hated to increase that stress. "Jamie, she's apparently still focused on you. She's tracking you on the internet. She knows you're on the job and that you live somewhere in Manhattan. If there's any good news, it's that she didn't seem to know your actual address."

Jamie couldn't stay seated. He stood up and began pacing in front of the desk. "She knows where I work. She knows where you live, and she's working on finding out where I live. Where am I supposed to go to be safe?" he asked. "And if she's still hanging around the house, I'm not the only one in danger. Nicki, Jack, Sean. They're all there at least one time a week. She went after me last time because I was the easy one to get. She could go after any of them this time," Jamie worried as he continued to pace back and forth.

"From her statements, it appears you're still the focus of her attention," Frank said. "But just in case, we'll take extra precautions at home. I already have Erin working on getting restraining orders in place."

"Piece of paper never stopped a criminal before," Danny grumbled.

"No, but if we do catch her near the house, Jamie, or any other family member, we have reason to lock her up," Frank argued back.

"And then they'll let her out after a day or so." Jamie strode over to the window and stared outside. "How long is this going to last? How long do I have to keep watching my back, wondering if she's going to try abducting me again?" he asked.

"Until we can get 'justice' for her," Danny commented. "I don't know what she wants us to do. I don't think she wants Jamie dead. She had plenty of opportunity the first time, if that was her goal."

Jamie turned away from the window, lost in thought. "That's not justice, that's retribution," he said. "She wants justice – her son's murder solved and the perpetrators locked up."

Danny snorted. "Yeah, well, I took a look at the reports from Parker Carrington's death, and bringing that murderer to trial is going to be impossible. The lead detective determined it was a suicide someone had cleaned up. There's no murderer to bring to justice." Danny paused. "Maybe she's trying to drive Jamie to suicide, so you'll lose a son the same way she did?"

Jamie shook his head. "That's getting back to retribution again. And it's not going to happen." He paced across the room to his father's desk. "Please, if anything happens to me, you have to know I wouldn't kill myself," he begged.

Danny gripped his brother's shoulder. "We know that, kid. But she doesn't. And nothing is going to happen to you. Not while I'm around."

Jamie nodded. "Why don't we take another look at the whole file? Maybe there's something that was missed. Something that would determine what happened, one way or the other."

"That's likely to drag up a lot of bad memories, Jamie." Frank said as he considered Jamie's idea.

"I don't think so. Parker Carrington's death happened well before the... the other events."

Frank nodded. "Okay, but for right now, we're doing this on our own time. I think we're all free this Saturday?"

"I'm not on duty." Jamie added.

"Nothing on my schedule right now," Danny confirmed.

"Saturday morning then. We'll meet here. I'll get the files delivered." Frank said. He looked at Jamie, knowing what he had to say next was not going to go over well. "Jamie, now that we know Ms. Thornsberg is actively looking for you, I don't want you staying at your apartment alone right now. With no one to watch your back, you're in too vulnerable a position. You can either move back home with your grandfather and me, or go stay with your brother."

Jamie thought about protesting, but he knew from his father's tone it was a lost cause. "Protective custody again? If those are my choices, I'll take Danny's house. Marjorie Thornsberg knows where the house is."

Frank nodded. "Go by your apartment during the day today and pick up whatever you'll need for a few days. Don't go straight from your place to Danny's," he advised.

"Dad, we've got this covered. Don't worry. My house will be the safest safe house ever," Danny reassured his father. "Jamie, let's get to work." He stood up.

"Shouldn't you call Linda and let her know the plan?" Jamie asked as they headed for the office door.

"Nah. Let's make it a surprise," Danny joked.

"I don't know, Danny. Maybe I should stay with Dad and Grandpa. I don't think your house is going to be very safe if you surprise Linda with an overnight guest."

"Shut up, kid," Danny teased back as they walked out the door.

Frank smiled at his sons as they left, glad they were finding ways to keep their new friendship growing. He had a feeling Jamie was going to need to lean on his brother in the days to come.


	8. Chapter 7 -Media Relations

_Author Note: Posting TWO chapters tonight, because this chapter is kind of short.  
_

* * *

 **CHAPTER 7 – MEDIA RELATIONS**

The door had barely closed behind the brothers Reagan before it opened again and DCPI Garrett Moore swept into the room. "Garrett. What's the news today?" Frank asked.

"You and Jamie made the society page." Garrett dropped the morning issue of the _New York Post_ on Frank's desk. "Just a short item, the socialite who kidnapped the PC's son way back when is out of jail, gossipy stuff, but the real news might pick up the story. We should have a statement ready."

"Garrett, she's just another prisoner who has served her time. If she commits another crime, then there will be something to talk about. Until then, we don't need to drag her name back into the public eye."

"But if the press brings it up, we want to be ready," Garrett argued. "We want to keep ahead of this. She has been known to use the press for her purposes before."

"I know, Garrett. I was at the news conference she forced."

FEBRUARY 6, 1998, FRIDAY

Frank glanced across the room in One Police Plaza. It was packed with reporters. He hated press conferences in general; already hated this one even more because of the reason for it. "Damn the Commissioner," he muttered quietly.

"Chief, watch out for the microphones," Joe warned at a whisper.

Frank turned to face his son. Not only had he been ordered to attend this media exercise, Danny and Joe had been pulled off their temporary assignments looking for their missing brother, as near as he could tell for the sole purpose of serving as a photo-op backdrop for the politically ambitious Commissioner. "You don't want to be here any more than I do," he grumbled.

Joe pulled a small smile. "Nope. But if it helps us find Jamie, I'll do it."

"Personally, I have better things to do. Like actually looking for the kid," Danny snapped. "If the PC's not here in thirty seconds, I'm leaving."

"We're staying until our boss tells us we can leave," Frank told his impatient son. He glared out at the crowd of reporters. "Or thirty more seconds. Whichever comes first," he concluded. "It's just like the Commissioner to be late to a meeting he called."

"Here he is now," Joe remarked, forcing a smile onto his face.

"Chief Reagan, Officers Reagan," the Commissioner greeted them as he strode into the room. "Your wife couldn't attend?"

"My wife asks that you respect her privacy at this time," Frank replied shortly.

The Commissioner nodded. "Let's get this conference started." He walked up to the podium. "Ladies and gentlemen, I have called this conference to address rumors which have been circulating regarding the kidnapping of Chief Reagan's fifteen-year-old son, Jameson Reagan, from his Brooklyn home three days ago. First, we want to state that despite what was stated in the letter you received, we are not leaving the city unprotected while we search for Jameson. We are treating this kidnapping like any other crime and have assigned the appropriate resources to the investigation. No more, but also no less than any other abduction."

"Commissioner, do you always transfer patrol officers off their beats to assist detectives on kidnapping cases?" a reporter called out.

The Commissioner acknowledged the reporter. "Mr. Anderson, no, we don't always take that step. But we will use the resources available to us. In this case, Officer Joseph Reagan was injured during his brother's abduction and is unable to work patrol, and is therefore available to assist the detectives with desk work, freeing them up for field investigation. And Officer Daniel Reagan…"

"Is doing his job and helping the detectives track down his brother," Danny interrupted the Commissioner.

"Daniel Reagan has been temporarily assigned to provide backup to the lead detective on this case," the Commissioner finished after a scathing glance at Danny.

Frank tried to suppress a smile. Danny had even less use than he did for political games, but if his son wasn't careful, he was going to find himself permanently assigned to parking patrol.

"Commissioner, I've heard rumors that the Reagan kidnapping is just the first; that there's a threat against the children of every police officer. Can you confirm those rumors?" another reporter asked.

"Ms. Timmons, you should know better than to listen to rumors," the Commissioner joked. "As far as Chief Reagan and I know, there is no widespread threat against the children of our city's police officers. We have heard that same rumor, and believe it to be a diversionary tactic, an effort to divert the resources of this city from investigating the real crime, the abduction of Jameson Reagan. We believe this was an isolated incident, targeting only Chief Reagan's son, and we do not believe any other children are in danger from these criminals.

"Chief Reagan," several voices called from the audience. The press secretary chose one of the reporters to ask a question. "If you believe your son was targeted, is the kidnapping related to your personal life or your professional activities?"

"Ma'am, when someone abducts one of your children and injures another, it becomes personal." Frank knew that didn't really answer the reporter's question, but a straight answer might reveal more than he wanted to and put Jamie's life in even more danger.

"Chief Reagan, have you received a ransom demand from the kidnappers?"

Frank looked at the reporter. "I will not discuss any ransom note we may have received, nor what any such note may have said. That is for my son's safety, and I hope you understand that his safety has to take priority over your need to know." That one question was the reason he hadn't wanted to appear at this press conference. He couldn't tell the reporters that yes, they had received a ransom demand, and no, they were not complying with it. He didn't want to think what it would mean for Jamie's safety if word got out.

"Chief, I received a copy of what I would call a ransom note. It demands that you reopen a murder investigation in exchange for your son's safe release. Do you have any comment?" the reporter pushed.

"I'd like to know where you got your information. Other than that, as I said before, I will not discuss that matter, for my son's safety."

"So you have reason to believe your son is still alive?" another reporter called.

 _Because I would know in my heart if he wasn't._ But Frank knew he couldn't give the reporter that answer. Behind him, he heard Danny's seething whisper, _stupid bastard reporters_. As much as Frank shared that sentiment, he couldn't give that answer either. "I have no reason to believe otherwise," he finally replied.

"Chief Reagan, if he has access to the news, do you have a message for your son?"

"Yes, I do. Jamie, stay strong. We will bring you home," he told the reporters. _God, let him hear those words_ , he prayed. He turned away from the reporters and left the podium, unable to continue any longer.

-BB-BB-BB-

"Frank, if I remember right, that press conference turned out to be a help to Jamie, even if you disagreed with being there," Garrett cut in, pulling him back to the present.

"Garrett, how did you know I didn't want to be at the press conference?" Frank asked. "That occurred years before you began working for the city."

Garrett shrugged. "Your body language. The tension between you and the Commissioner. The way you avoided answering certain questions. It was obvious to anyone who was there and paying attention."

"You were there."

"And I always paid attention. That's how a reporter from the New York Post moves up to DCPI."


	9. Chapter 8 - Protective Custody

Author Note: Second chapter for tonight... Don't miss the first one!

* * *

 **CHAPTER 8 – PROTECTIVE CUSTODY**

OCTOBER 10, 2012 – WEDNESDAY EVENING

"Well, that's another eight hours down," Vinnie remarked as he steered their patrol car toward the garage at the 12th at the end of tour.

"Nine hours, Vin. Nine. That last purse snatch call put us an hour late." Jamie corrected.

"That's right. But at least the vic was easy on the eyes."

"Yeah, I noticed you spent a _lot_ of time getting every little detail of her statement," Jamie teased his partner.

"Just trying to do my job the best I can," Vinnie teased back. "Hey, what's your brother doing here?" he asked as he spotted Detective Reagan leaning against Jamie's car beside their station house.

Jamie groaned and sank down in his seat. "Probably waiting for me. Either he thinks I forgot where his house is, or I just lost my driving privileges."

"Hey, you know all we're trying to do is keep you safe. You grow on a guy. Getting used to having you as a partner, y'know?" Vinnie told him.

"I know. Kind of suffocating, though."

"J, you know my door is open if you want to stay with me," Vinnie repeated the offer he'd made earlier in the day, when they had stopped by Jamie's apartment so he could gather the clothes and toiletries he'd need for the next few days.

"Nah, I don't want to interfere with your social life," Jamie teased. "But thanks."

A few minutes later, Jamie had changed into his street clothes and exited the station house to meet his brother at his car. "Hello, Danny."

Danny looked at his watch. "You're late."

"You're here."

"Yeah, Dad and I had a conversation earlier. It's possible that crazy lady knows what your car looks like. We decided it would be safer for everyone if you leave it here for a few days and carpool with me," Danny informed his brother. "Move it into the garage. I'll meet you there," he ordered.

Jamie dropped his travel bag at his brother's feet in a small act of defiance before he walked to the driver's door and lowered himself into his car. For a moment, he thought about revving the engine and driving off, leaving Danny standing alone on the sidewalk in a cloud of exhaust. As amusing as that image was, he knew it wouldn't work out well in the end. Danny would probably send a patrol car after him, lights flashing and sirens blaring. With a sigh, he moved his car to the precinct's garage, pulling into the parking place Danny was pointing to.

"Kid, hurry up. We're going to be late for dinner," Danny called. He opened the passenger door to his well-worn SUV for Jamie. "Stay down, out of sight, while we're leaving, in case she's watching," he instructed.

"Danny, this is stupid," Jamie protested as he climbed into the vehicle, kneeling on the floor in front of the passenger side seat.

"My car, my family, my rules," Danny informed him. He got into the driver seat, started the car and tore out of the garage.

"Danny!" Jamie protested. "Watch how you drive, at least until I get buckled in!"

"Wimp," Danny teased. But he did slow down slightly. A few blocks later, he allowed Jamie to sit up in the passenger seat. After an uneventful drive, he turned his car into his driveway on Staten Island. "Here we are, Jamie. You home sweet home for the next few days."

"Danny, I'm sorry about this. I don't want to inconvenience you and Linda."

"Stuff it, kid. Keeping you safe here isn't inconvenient. It's the opposite of inconvenient. If you weren't here, I'd be standing guard at your place, away from my family. Or going through the extra work and worry of trying to track you down after she snatches you. Besides, the boys will enjoy having their uncle around. "

"Okay. But at least let me order in pizza. Linda shouldn't have to cook for me in addition to the other work a houseguest makes."

"I won't turn down free dinner tonight, if Linda approves. And you do realize she's going to put you to work. You're not getting a free ride. How are your early-elementary school math skills?"

"One plus one equals two?"

"Good boy. You'll do fine as a homework helper." Danny replied, squeezing Jamie's shoulder. "Now get yourself inside and order that pizza. I'm hungry."

"Yes, my lordship." Jamie grumbled good-naturedly.

"And here come the lady of the house and the little princes now." Danny got out of the car and scooped his sons into a hug.

"Greetings, m'Lady," Jamie greeted Linda with an elaborate bow.

Linda looked at him in confusion, until she notice Danny's smirk. _Some silly brothers thing, obviously._ "Jamie, welcome home."

Danny sent his boys Jamie's way and pulled his wife into a hug and a quick kiss. "Jamie's offered to buy pizza for dinner tonight, unless you have other plans…"

"That's sweet of him." Linda told her husband. "But he doesn't have to do that."

Danny shrugged. "Let him. He's feeling guilty about causing extra work for you. It'll make him feel better."

"Okay, Danny, but just tonight." Linda turned to her sons. "Boys, did you hear that? Uncle Jamie's buying pizza for you."

Jack and Sean both yelled in excitement. Sean hugged Jamie again. "You're my best uncle, Uncle Jamie," he told Jamie. "Buy cheese pizza."

"No, buy pepperoni," Jack insisted from his other side. "Cheese is boring."

"Is not. Pepperoni stinks," Sean argued back.

"Hey, guys, guys. We'll get one of each, okay?" Jamie tried to settle the argument before it went too much further. "Let's go inside and find the number for your favorite place." He followed the two energetic boys up the front steps

As soon as the pizzas were ordered, Jamie pulled Danny aside. He removed his off-duty weapon and handed it to his brother. "I'm sure you have some place you want to put this. Probably shouldn't let me know where," Jamie said.

Danny nodded. "I'll keep it secure for you." He was relieved that Jamie had taken the initiative. He hadn't wanted to disarm his brother against his will, but he couldn't let his sleepwalking brother have access to weapons. He had to keep his family safe. All of them. Including Jamie.

"Seriously, don't let me know where you put it or your gun either. I'm afraid I'll try to get to it, and I don't want to put your family in danger. Sleepwalking is bad enough without a loaded gun." Jamie glanced toward the front door and sighed. "I hate this. I can't trust myself to not do something stupid."

"Jamie, you'll be okay," Danny tried to reassure his brother. "And don't worry, I'll be listening for any late-night promenading. You can't get downstairs without walking by our bedroom door." Internally, he was worried. Maybe he should take a few additional precautions to watch out for his baby brother instead of depending on creaky floorboards. He turned Jamie back toward the kitchen. "Go help my kids with their homework while we wait for those pizzas. I've got some weapons concealing to do."

Several hours and four pizzas later, Jamie found himself lying in Sean's twin-size bed, staring at the ceiling, hoping he'd be able to sleep through the night. He tried to focus his thoughts on reality. He was safe, in his brother's house, with his brother watching over him. _She_ didn't know where he was, so she couldn't hurt him. He could go to sleep and wake up safe in this bed tomorrow morning. He was safe…

 _He was in a small room in an attic furnished only with a small metal bed placed in front of a dormer window. The dormer let in a small amount of light, not that there was much light to filter in with the raging snowstorm outside. He ran across the room, crawled over the bed to the window and tried to open it, but it was locked, and also blocked by heavy iron bars running from top to bottom. He yanked at the bars, feeling panic starting to grow, choking him, closing off his vision._

 _He turned and ran to the door, turning the knob and yanking on the doorknob, but it wouldn't open. He was trapped. "Let me out. Please, let me out," he yelled, banging on the door as hard as he could. He hurried back to the window and pounded on the glass. "Danny! Joe! Dad! Help me!" Why were they just standing down there on the lawn? Why wouldn't they help him? The panic was a physical thing now, a spinning vortex of darkness whipping his hair into his face, making it hard to see, sucking the breath from his lungs, threatening to pull him in._

 _"Jamie!" A familiar voice called his name from outside of the room. He tried to latch onto it and the safety it represented, but it whirled away into the vortex._

 _"Stupid boy, you can't get out," a different voice – female, threatening – mocked from behind him. "Stupid, stupid boy."_

 _He turned around to see_ her _standing there, aiming a Taser shaped like an old Colt revolver at him. He wanted to run, but something was pinning him to the wall and his legs were trapped in several feet of snow. "Please, don't; please, let me go," he begged. But she ignored him and fired the weapon and he was falling, falling, falling into the swirling darkness. "No!"_

"No! No!" Jamie moaned as he thrashed about on the bed.

"Jamie! Come on, kid, wake up. You're okay."

Danny's quiet, insistent voice cut into Jamie's nightmare, finally breaking its grip on his subconscious. He awoke gasping for breath, his heart racing. Danny sat on the edge of the bed, holding him down by his shoulders, a concerned look on his face.

"You awake now?" Danny asked.

Jamie nodded. He worked at getting his breathing back to normal as the images from the nightmare faded. "I'm okay. Sorry if I woke up everyone."

"Don't worry about that. Same old nightmare?"

"Yeah. One of the many variations on the theme." He draped one arm over his eyes. "Don't think I'll be getting any more sleep tonight."

"Yes, you will." Danny turned around so he was sitting with his back against the headboard.

"Hey! This bed's not big enough for two people," Jamie protested as he slid over to make room for Danny.

"Sure it is. Sean and Jack share it all the time," Danny teased. He laid one hand on Jamie's forehead, lightly rubbing the bridge of his brother's nose. "Relax. Think about breathing slowly."

"Danny," Jamie almost whined. "I'm not a little kid anymore."

"Jamie," Danny mimicked Jamie's tone. "I know that. But you're still my baby brother, so you have to do what I tell you to. Breathe in slow, breathe out slow."

"Do not," Jamie argued back, but he found himself following Danny's instructions.

"Breathe in," Danny repeated, "breathe out. You know the fun thing about being the eldest sibling? I always get to be the big brother, and you're stuck being the baby of the family forever. Sixty years from now, when I'll be a hundred-year old geezer in a wheelchair and you'll be a ninety year old whippersnapper with a cane, you'll still be the baby brother."

"If you call me that, I'll push your wheelchair into traffic." Jamie retorted.

"But that still won't make you the big brother. You might be the eldest son, and a geriatric homicidal maniac, but you'll still be the baby of the family."

"What if Dad has another child? Then I won't be the baby."

Danny turned Jamie's head to face him. "Kid, you trying to give me bad dreams now? That's just wrong."

Jamie smirked. "You're secretly a prude. You don't even want to think about Dad being with a woman."

"You. Shut. Up." Danny laid his hand over Jamie's mouth.

Jamie pushed Danny's hand away. "Prude," he stated again, right before his smirk morphed into a yawn.

"Getting sleepy, baby brother?" Danny teased.

"Nope," Jamie argued. It might have been more convincing if he hadn't yawned again.

"Hey, on the subject of little kids, I haven't told you about Sean's latest soccer game. He's turning out to be a better player than you were." Danny launched into a detailed retelling of every play of his son's latest sports game. As he hoped, by the end of the story, Jamie had almost fallen asleep. "Good night, kid," Danny whispered.

"G'nigh," Jamie mumbled as he rolled onto his side.

Danny rested one hand to his brother's shoulder, not willing to leave until he was sure Jamie was sound asleep. He leaned back against the headboard, wondering how long the nightmares would last for this time and plagued by worry over what could be causing them. Danny's mind took him back fifteen years to that attic in Marjorie Thornsberg's Long Island mansion...

* * *

 _AN: Two chapter AND a tiny bit of a cliffhanger!_


	10. Chapter 9 - Memories & Things Forgotten

A/N: Only one chapter tonight, but it's a long one...

* * *

 **CHAPTER 9 – MEMORIES AND THINGS FORGOTTEN**

FEBRUARY 9, 1998, MONDAY - MARJORIE THORNSBERG'S MANSION

Danny sat next to his brother in the attic of the Thornsberg mansion, holding Jamie tightly against his side with one arm. The other held his cell phone in front of Jamie, allowing them to talk to the family back in Bay Ridge. A quiet tapping on the doorframe pulled his attention away from the conversation. Detective Halsey stood at the door, obviously eager to talk to Jamie. As soon as Erin finished her greeting, he quickly ended the phone call with a promise to call the family back when he knew which hospital they'd be taking Jamie to.

Detective Halsey ambled over to where Danny was sitting with Jamie on the bed. He squatted down in front of the two. "Jamie, I need to ask you some questions about what happened here. If you want Danny to stay, that's okay, but if you want him to leave, I'm sure he'll understand."

Danny sucked in a sharp breath, knowing what was coming. He didn't want to stay. He really didn't want to stay. Didn't want to listen to Jamie recount whatever had happened to him over the past week. He started to stand up, but stopped when Jamie grabbed onto his arm.

"Danny, don't leave me alone," Jamie almost begged, his eyes wide with fear.

He sat back down on the bed as he realized what he wanted wasn't important right now. This looked to be one of those 'big-brother' jobs he got drafted into when his parents decided to present him with a baby brother. "Okay, kid, I'm not going anywhere."

Halsey looked down at Jamie's splinted ankle. "Can you tell me what happened to your ankle?" Halsey asked what should have been an easy question.

Jamie looked down at the injured limb. "I tripped and fell. On the stairs. I think."

Halsey looked up at Danny with a puzzled frown. Danny frowned back, worried at Jamie's vagueness about the injury. "Jamie, can you give us some more details? Which stairs? When? How?" Danny prompted.

Jamie stared down at his ankle. "Think it was the day before yesterday."

Saturday! Danny felt anger growing in his chest. His baby brother had been injured, in pain, alone, for all that time. Why had it taken them so long to find him?

"There's nothing more you can tell us?" Halsey asked. "What were you doing on the stairs?"

Jamie shrugged his shoulders. "Don't remember."

"Okay, Jamie, other than your ankle, are you hurt anywhere else?" Halsey asked. "Any bumps to the noggin? Cracked up ribs? Internal injuries?"

Jamie shook his head. "Got some bruises from when I fell." He held out his arm, pushing the sleeve of his shirt up to show the edge of a bruise that had developed in harsh shades of purple, red and yellow. "And she zapped me with that Taser, back when she first brought me here and the next day, when I tried to run. But that's all."

"You tried to escape?" Danny asked.

"Uh-huh. The second day. She opened the door to deliver food – a sandwich and a soda – and I tried to run out. But she had the Taser ready and zapped me. I didn't even make it out of the room."

 _So, that's not when you fell down the stairs. So when was it? What the hell happened?_ Danny wondered. "Where did she Taze you, Jamie?"

Jamie put his hand on the right side of his ribcage. "Over here."

"Okay. We'll need to get some pictures of those injuries later," Halsey said neutrally. "Jamie, did Ms. Thornsberg ever hit you or slap you?"

"Once she'd locked me in this room, she mostly ignored me. I only saw her when she brought the food up most afternoons."

"Jamie, can you answer the question? Did she hit you? Did someone else hit you?" Halsey pushed.

Jamie stared silently at his feet. "Don't remember," he finally replied.

The detective gestured toward the right side of Jamie's face where a purple bruise spread across his cheekbone and swept up toward his temple. "How'd you get that bruise? It looks like someone smacked you one," he commented.

Jamie reached up to touch the bruise like he hadn't realized it was there. He shrugged his shoulders. "When I fell on the stairs?"

Danny gently turned Jamie's head to get a closer look at the roughly hand-shaped bruise. "I don't think so, Jamie, it looks more like someone slapped you."

Jamie looked up at Danny, confusion written in his eyes. "Maybe I did hit my head? I can't remember."

"That's okay, Jamie. We'll have the paramedics check you over when they get here." Halsey said. "Okay, Jamie. Did Ms. Thornsberg or anyone else touch you in a sexual manner?"

Danny forced himself to keep breathing normally, trying not to react to that emotionally charged question. God in heaven, he didn't want to know the answer. Unless it was an unequivocal "no."

Jamie shuddered. "She was the only one here, and she didn't touch me at all. She basically ignored me. I already told you that."

Danny felt his heart sink. That wasn't the firm 'no' he was hoping for, given that sometime in the past few days, someone had not ignored Jamie long enough to leave that bruise on the side of his face. _God, no, please,_ he prayed silently.

"Jamie, just as a heads up, the hospital is going to insist on doing an examination to verify that. It's standard procedure."

"I don't want to go to the hospital," Jamie muttered sullenly.

Danny squeezed his brother's shoulder. "Kiddo, I'm all for staying out of hospitals, but there's no way to avoid that place. It's policy, plus that ankle looks bad. You need to get it checked out. And I'll be right there with you. I promise."

It was at that moment that the paramedics had arrived and any further questions had to be put off while the medics did a quick examination and stabilized Jamie's ankle for transport to the hospital.

As the medics were examining Jamie, Halsey pulled Danny aside. "Your brother's not telling us something about that fall on the stairs. It sound like he was on his way out of this place, and he turned around and climbed back upstairs on an injured leg?"

"I know. I know." Danny said. "It doesn't make sense."

"And that bruise. Sure looks like someone slapped him," Halsey added. "Makes me wonder what else he's not telling."

Danny nodded. "Yeah," he reluctantly agreed.

"See if you can get him talking. I'll be by the hospital later."

"I'll see what I can do," Danny said. He moved to his brother's side as he heard the paramedics debating how to get Jamie down the narrow flight of stairs to the third floor. Apparently, they were concerned about getting any stretcher around the tight ninety-degree turn at the bottom of the attic stairs. He listened to their discussion for a minute; watched his brother's eyes dart between one paramedic and the other; watched Jamie's white-knuckled grip on the edge of the mattress get even tighter. _The kid probably thinks he's going to be trapped up here forever._ Finally he'd had enough. He knelt down in front of his brother. "Kid, you ready to blow this joint?" he whispered.

Jamie looked up at him and nodded.

"Then hold on." Danny quickly tossed his brother over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and stood up. It was too easy. Almost a week without enough food had burned too many pounds off Jamie's already skinny body.

"Hey, what are you doing? Put him down!" one of the medics objected.

Danny ignored the medics' protests and carried Jamie across the attic and down the stairs to the third floor. "Guys, do you have a stretcher that would work from here, or should I keep hauling my brother downstairs?" Danny spun around and yelled up to the medics.

"Hey!" Jamie yelped. "Danny, put me down before you drop me!"

"Not until I know those two doofus medics have their act together," he told Jamie. "And when have I ever dropped you?"

"When I was almost four! You dropped me on the driveway getting me out of the car."

"Oh, that." Of course Jamie _would_ remember the one time he'd wiggled out of his big brother's grip and landed hard on his knees on the asphalt. Jamie had sat there silently for a few seconds, his eyes wide, his mouth a perfect little "O". And then he'd started screaming. Not crying, like a normal toddler would do, but a flat-out, ear-piercing shriek of outrage at Danny's negligence. Then he'd gotten to his feet and stumbled over to Joe, and only _then_ had the lower lip started quivering and the tears flowing. "Well, I was a clumsy teenager, and you were a squirmy little brat," Danny explained. "I grew out of the clumsiness."

"Danny!" Jamie protested again as he picked up on the subtle insult.

The first of the paramedics arrived at the third floor. "Officer, we'll get it from here. We can use our gurney from this point."

Danny nodded. He deposited his brother on the paramedic's gurney, then stayed by Jamie's side as they began strapping him down, overruling Jamie's strenuous objections to being restrained with a reassurance that he'd be right by his side, ready to shoot anyone who did anything that didn't look like taking them to a hospital. He'd stayed by Jamie's side through the ambulance trip to St. Michael's ER. But he hadn't been able to get much more out of Jamie. He'd been able to figure out that it wasn't just one incident Jamie couldn't remember; it was some period of time. But most of his questions had been met with blank stares and a mumbled replies of "don't remember".

OCTOBER 11, 2012, THURSDAY EARLY AM

As Danny felt his brother shift restively in his sleep beside him, he wished Jamie would remember. Maybe that would finally put an end to the nightmares. He thought back over the events of that afternoon fifteen years earlier, trying to figure out if there was some clue he and Detective Halsey may have missed that would give them some idea what happened that Jamie had forgotten. There had to be something they'd overlooked. He'd spent the better part of that Monday afternoon glued to Jamie's side. Surely, Jamie had said something that would give them a clue as to what happened... Danny glanced down at his sleeping brother, remembering their stay in the ER.

FEBRUARY 9, 1998, MONDAY – ST. MICHAEL'S HOSPITAL

Danny strode alongside the paramedics rolling Jamie's gurney into the ER. A middle-aged Hispanic nurse met them. "Hi, Jamie, I'm Sonya. I'll be taking care of you while you're here," she greeted Jamie, while ignoring him.

Jamie didn't release his grip on Danny's arm as he quickly glanced at the nurse and muttered a short 'Hi'. They'd pulled into Room 5 and the next few minutes were occupied with getting Jamie transferred from gurney to bed. As soon as Jamie was settled, she'd turned to him. "Officer, if you want to wait outside, I'll let you know when we're finished examining him and you can come talk to him then."

"Danny, no! Don't leave me!" Jamie bolted upright in the bed, his heart rate and breathing speeding up dramatically. He grabbed hold of his brother's arm.

Danny gently pushed his brother back down against the bed. "It's okay, kid, I'm not going anywhere. Relax."

"Officer, we need you to leave. Only family is allowed to stay with the patient," Sonya insisted.

Danny looked up at her, anger smoldering in his eyes. "I _am_ family." He pointed at the nameplate on his uniform. "Daniel Reagan. Your patient's brother."

Sonya didn't back down. She looked at his nameplate, studied it as if he was making up his relationship with Jamie. Finally, she relented. "Okay, Officer Reagan, you can stay for now. But if your brother or the doctor wants you to leave, you'll have to step outside."

Danny nodded. "Fine." He thought about apologizing, but couldn't make himself do it, not after she'd got Jamie worked up again. He looked down at his baby brother, who had laid back against the bed, eyes tightly closed, one hand tightly gripping his wrist, struggling to get his breathing back under control. "Relax, kid. I'm staying right here."

Jamie nodded, and his grip on his brother's wrist loosened slightly.

"Since you're here, can you help me get him changed into one of our lovely gowns?" Sonya asked.

"I can change myself," Jamie protested.

Sonya dropped a hospital gown on the bed. "Of course you can. But I'll have to cut these jeans off. There's no way they're getting over your ankle."

Jamie blushed. "Couldn't Danny do that instead?"

"He could. But I bet I'd be more careful. Your brother looks like the type who used to run with scissors," she teased.

At Danny's protesting sputter, Jamie managed to smile. "He did. Or so my other brother says."

"Tell you what, you get out of that shirt and we'll put the gown on you first before we worry about the jeans. Preserve as much of your dignity as we can, okay?" She picked up the folded gown and shook it out.

"Okay." Jamie agreed as he started working on removing his shirt.

"Officer, there's a box of bags on the wall behind you. Grab one for your brother's belongings," the nurse requested.

 _So I can collect the evidence_ , Danny thought silently. _Every scrap of clothing on him is evidence. Got to preserve the chain of custody._ Right then, he'd wished he was just Jamie's brother and not a cop, so he wouldn't know exactly what the evidence techs would be looking for. _Evidence of any beating they gave him, evidence of any drugging, evidence of any sexual assault._ _God, no_ , he prayed again. He grabbed a bag and forced a small smile onto his face before turning back to his brother. "Okay kiddo, out of those stinky clothes. Dump 'em right in here."

Jamie shrugged out of the flannel shirt and peeled off the long sleeved tee, dropping both items into the bag. He reached for the hospital gown, but Nurse Sonya intervened.

"Let me do a quick check for injuries before you gown up, okay, Jamie?" Without waiting for him to agree, she'd checked his upper body, both front and back, and made note of the Taser marks on his upper back and abdomen, and of the bruises on his sides, back and arms. "Fell down some stairs?" she asked.

Jamie shrugged noncommittally.

"What makes you say that?" Danny asked sharply.

"The pattern of bruises is pretty typical for someone who took the express trip downstairs. We see it in a lot of domestic violence cases," she explained. "Okay, all done."

Jamie grabbed the hospital gown, quickly slipping it around his shivering frame. "It's cold in here," he complained.

"No, it's just that well-ventilated dress you're wearing," Danny teased while he tied the gown behind Jamie's back.

"And unfortunately, it's about to get better ventilated," Sonya returned with a pair of sturdy scissors. "Let's get you out of those jeans, then I'll grab a warmed blanket for you," Sonya continued. She carefully removed both the paramedics' cardboard splint and Jamie's newspaper splint, causing him to hiss in pain. "Sorry about that. I'll try not to jostle your leg anymore."

Danny watched as she carefully sliced through the sturdy denim, allowing him to see just how badly his brother's ankle had been damaged. "Jesus, kid, you really did a job on your leg, didn't you?"

"Probably broke a bone, from the looks of it. Wouldn't be surprised if he needs surgery to set it," Sonya commented as she worked on cutting Jamie's jeans.

"Hey! What're you doing?" Jamie suddenly protested. "You didn't say anything about taking my undershorts!"

"Kid, you really want to keep those? I wasn't going to say anything, but they smell kind of ripe." Danny pinched his nose closed.

"Well, it's not my fault. It's not like I've been able to shower for almost a week," Jamie huffed.

"Okay. Off with the pants," Sonya ordered as she finished cutting through the clothing. "And don't worry; I've got a nurse rounding up some clean undies for you." She smiled at Jamie and Danny. "One of our interns is going to learn a valuable lesson about securing his locker."

"Nurse, are you admitting to petty theft?" Danny teased while he helped Jamie finish undressing.

"We prefer to think of it as "donating after the fact." Sonya retorted. She made note of the mostly-healed Taser burn and the various bruises on Jamie's legs. "Looks like you fell up the stairs, too," she commented.

Danny looked at his brother. Jamie hadn't mentioned that. But his brother refused to meet his gaze, and his only response was a small shrug of his shoulders. Before he could follow up on that matter, Sonya was busy with her preliminary examination: checking vitals, getting an IV started, grabbing the promised blanket. Then almost as soon as she finished, the doctor had arrived, and even before he had finished his examination, Detective Halsey, accompanied by a photographer, was waiting to see his Jamie.

And all he could do was stand by his brother's side and keep watch over him. Keep one hand on his shoulder, or his arm, or the top of his head, or his undamaged right leg, whatever part of his body the doctor wasn't busy examining, giving Jamie some connection to safety, normalcy. At least, that's what he'd done until the police photographer had banished him to the wall. Didn't need him in the pictures, she'd said. Just a few steps away from Jamie, but Danny could see how the lack of physical contact was sending his brother's mental state into a downward spiral.

"Tell me again how you got this bruise on your lower back?" Danny heard the police photographer ask.

"Fell… down… the… stairs," Jamie snapped out each word. He tightened his grip on the edge of the hospital bed.

"We're almost done. Just a few more shots," the photographer commented as she arranged the hospital gown to get a better view.

"Fine."

The waver in Jamie's whisper caught Danny's attention, and he took a close look at his brother. He recognized the expression on Jamie's face; he'd seen it far too many times on crime victims in his few years on the force. Humiliation. Already feeling vulnerable from whatever crime they'd been the victim of, they then had endure intrusive medical examinations, then have their vulnerability documented for public display. And to make matters worse, Jamie was at that awkward beanpole stage of development. He'd hit his growth spurt, grown up and leaned out, but hadn't yet filled out his new frame. Danny remembered how self-conscious he'd been at that time, until sports and the "see-food" diet had put some meat on his bones. He'd hated _anyone_ taking photos of his scrawny body; would have hated it even more if it the photographer was a total stranger and the photos would be seen outside of the family. Danny watched Jamie's shoulders heave with rapid breaths, watched Jamie blink his downcast eyes rapidly and suck in on his lower lip, probably to stop it from trembling, and he knew he had to intervene.

"No, you're done now." Danny stepped over to the bed and pulled Jamie's head to his shoulder. He tried to contain his anger at Marjorie Thornsberg. Jamie didn't need 'angry big brother' right now; he needed 'overly protective big brother', and that's who he was going to get. "Hang on," he whispered in Jamie's ear.

Nurse Sonya frowned at him, as did the photographer and Detective Halsey.

"Officer Reagan, we need to interview your brother," Halsey protested.

"You can do it later."

Sonya looked at Danny again, then moved to the vital signs monitor and frowned at the readouts. "Detective, I'm going to agree with Officer Reagan. You're done for right now."

Halsey shot another look at Danny, then nodded to the nurse and led the photographer out of Jamie's room.

Danny looked up at Sonya. "What's wrong?" He hadn't thought anything was physically wrong with Jamie; he'd just wanted to give his kid brother a break and a safe shoulder to cry on.

"Nothing." Sonya looked up at him with a small sympathetic smile. "But it got rid of them."

Danny smiled back. "Remind me to stay on your good side."

"Do you need help getting your brother settled in the bed?" Sonya asked.

Danny felt Jamie shake his head 'no' against his shoulder. "I've got it," he told Sonya, and she stepped out of the room with a warning to be careful of Jamie's ankle.

He re-tied Jamie's hospital gown around his back before he pulled him into a gentle hug. "It's okay," he reassured his brother as he felt Jamie's uneven breaths turn to body-shaking sobs. "After the week you've had… Just let it out. I won't tell," he whispered. He kept his arms wrapped around his brother, muffling Jamie's sobs against his shoulder until they subsided and his ragged breathing began to even out. He rubbed Jamie's back, feeling too many bones. "Hey, kid, as soon as we can, Joe and I are going to start taking you to the gym with us. Build some muscles on you. By the time your case gets to trial, the jury's going to be wondering what happened to that skinny little boy they see in those photos. And all the female jurors will be swooning over the hot young stud sitting at the prosecutor's table."

Danny felt Jamie snicker quietly against his shoulder. "I mean it. Joe and I will get you in shape, we'll get you a decent haircut, and you'll be the hottest Reagan man in the courtroom. Unless I'm there, of course."

Jamie snorted. "Of course." He pushed against Danny's hug.

Danny gently sat his brother back up. "You doing okay, kid?"

Jamie nodded, trying to hide the evidence of the tears by not looking up at Danny.

Danny chose not to mention that Jamie had thoroughly dampened the shoulder of his uniform shirt. "Why don't you lay back and rest," Danny suggested as he eased Jamie down onto the bed. He carefully lifted his brother's damaged leg onto the bed, but not carefully enough, to judge from Jamie's pained whimper.

"Sorry," Danny apologized as he pulled the blanket up into Jamie's reach. He looked into his brother's exhausted eyes, which were almost brimming with tears again. _That ankle must really be hurting him._ "Kid, you should try to sleep for a while. I'll wake you up when the family arrives or if they're ever ready to move you to x-ray."

Jamie shook his head. "Can't. What if _she_ finds me here?"

"Not going to happen," Danny insisted. He knew Jamie wasn't thinking clearly; between the adrenaline crash and the parade of doctors, detectives and photographers, Jamie was at the end of his emotional rope and needed sleep to give his brain a chance to recover. "Scoot over," he demanded as he perched on the bed beside his brother.

"Danny, what?" Jamie protested.

"Hush." Danny wrapped his left arm behind his brother's shoulders. "Close your eyes. Nobody's getting near you without coming through me first."

"You sure?"

Danny drew Jamie closer, holding his brother's head securely against his shoulder. "I've got you on this side, and my gun on the other. Nobody is getting to you, kid. Okay?"

"Okay," Jamie replied warily.

"Now close your eyes and go to sleep," Danny ordered. He watched as Jamie forced his eyes closed. "There, that's the way," he told Jamie. He gently rubbed the bridge of his brother's nose. That trick had always sent his baby brother right to sleep when he was a toddler. To Danny's relief, it appeared to still work. Within a few minutes, he felt the tight muscles in his brother's back relaxing; felt his breathing slow as Jamie finally gave in to the exhaustion and let sleep claim him.

Afraid of waking his brother, Danny hadn't moved for almost half an hour, until a nurse – the cute blond he knew he'd seen before; Linda, he thought he'd heard Sonya call her – had arrived with his family in tow. He'd gently wakened Jamie, just in time for both of them to be swamped by parents and siblings. Then, only minutes later, Sonya had returned to tell them x-ray was finally ready for Jamie. As the nurses wheeled Jamie's bed out of the room, Danny saw his father gesturing for him to stay behind.

"Detective Halsey says you and the nurse chased him out of the room earlier, before he'd finished questioning Jamie," Frank stated.

Danny felt himself getting defensive. "Jamie had had all he could take."

"Which is why I was about to say 'good job, son,'" Frank cut in. He gripped his son's shoulders. "You made protecting your brother your first priority, and that's what I needed you to do."

"Is that Jamie's father or Chief Reagan talking?" Danny asked, trying not to smirk.

Frank let himself smile a little. "Some of both. Halsey's the man you want looking for you if you're missing, but he sometimes forgets that once he's found his victim, they might not be up for questioning right away."

"Detective have anything else to say?"

Frank hesitated for a moment. "Halsey tried to talk to Ms. Thornsberg, but she's invoking her right to remain silent. The only question she answered was to deny she'd touched Jamie inappropriately, to use her word. Says she's 'a grieving mother, not some kind of pervert.' I think you know what she meant."

"Yeah," Danny agreed.

"Halsey and I also talked to Jamie's doctor. Jamie's injuries are largely consistent with what he told you and Halsey: a fall on stairs and the Taser use. No evidence of systematic beatings, no evidence of sexual assault," he finished quickly.

Danny ran his hands over his face. "That fits with what Jamie told me. But, Dad, there's a block of time he's forgotten – hours, maybe a day. He _thinks_ he tripped down some stairs and injured his ankle during that time, but he can't remember when, what stairs, why he was on them, how he got back to the attic, how his face got bruised, nothing."

Frank nodded, already wondering what had happened. "I see."

"But I can tell you exactly what day he injured his ankle," Danny snapped out, his anger at the whole situation spilling over. "Two damn days ago. That's how long he sat in her damn attic with a broken ankle, while Halsey and I wasted time running around the city."

"You sound sure about that," Frank commented.

Danny opened the plastic bag holding Jamie's clothing. "He used this and his belt to splint his ankle," he said, holding out the newspaper to his father.

"'Police Chief to Kidnapped Son: We Will Bring You Home,'" Frank read the headline. "This was published two days ago; the morning after the Commissioner's press conference. The one I tried to avoid attending. The media vultures asked me if I had a message for Jamie…"

"'We Will Bring You Home,'" Danny read off the crumpled paper before shoving it back into the bag. "Well, it looks like Jamie got the message. Got it, and strapped it around his ankle so it wouldn't hurt so much for the two more damn days it took us to find him."

Frank gripped his son's shoulder. "Son, however long it took, you fulfilled my promise to him. You brought him home."

"Not quite home, and not in time," Danny interrupted bitterly. "Who knows what she did to him."

"Danny, don't imagine the worst. I know none of this has been easy, but Jamie is going to be fine, thanks to you," Frank tried to reassure his oldest son. "Because you did my job as his father when I wasn't there. Whatever happened, you made your brother feel safe."

-BB-BB-BB-

Danny looked down at his brother, still wondering just what had happened fifteen years ago to wipe those missing hours from his mind. Obviously, something had mentally traumatized his baby brother, even if the physical evidence didn't suggest any severe abuse. And all Jamie claimed to remember was a long week of boredom. "She basically ignored me, except to bring food once a day," he'd insisted whenever anyone – Detective Halsey, the psychiatrist, family members – had asked. "She'd bring food and the newspaper, and she'd make me sign the newspaper and then she'd leave. Other than that, I just stayed locked in that room until Danny and the detective arrived." He swore that's all he remembered: being bored for days. And, if pressed, a vague recollection of falling down the stairs. "Kiddo, we've got to figure out what you brain is hiding from you," Danny whispered to his sleeping brother.


	11. Chapter 10 - The Nurse's Memories

**CHAPTER 10 – THE NURSE'S MEMORIES  
**

OCTOBER 11, 2012, THURSDAY EARLY AM - REAGAN HOME, STATEN ISLAND

Down the hall, in the Reagan's master bedroom, the cool air seeping into the bed woke Linda. She snuggled the bedcovers tighter around her, then sat up when she realized Danny wasn't in their bed. "Babe?" she called quietly, but her husband didn't answer. She shrugged into her robe and headed down the hallway in search of her husband. She peeked into Jack's room, where both her boys were sound asleep, curled up with their backs to each other on the top bunk of Jack's trundle bed, neither boy choosing to use the lower pull-out bunk. She headed down the hallway to Sean's room, where Jamie had taken up temporary residence. She peeked into the room to see Jamie lying on his side on the small bed, apparently asleep, and her husband sitting on the bed beside his brother, one hand resting on Jamie's shoulder. Danny looked up at her and raised a finger to his lips, indicating for her to be quiet. The scene took her back fifteen years, to the first time she'd met her young brother-in-law.

FEBRUARY 9, 1998 – ST MICHAEL'S HOSPITAL, LONG ISLAND

Linda had just reported for her shift at the emergency room of St. Michaels Hospital on Long Island when the call came in from the ambulance giving them the rundown on their soon-to-be patient: fifteen year old male kidnapping victim, vitals all within normal range but showing signs of mild hypothermia, dehydration and exhaustion, minor bruising, possible fractured ankle. Rumors immediately began flying that the patient was 'that Reagan boy' who'd been abducted the week before. Linda recognized the name; last week, when she'd been picking up an extra shift at a hospital in Brooklyn, a cop named Reagan had been brought in with an ankle injury. She wasn't directly involved in his care, since she'd been manning the nurse's station that evening, but she'd heard the officer had been injured trying to prevent the abduction of his younger brother. If the rumors were right, their new patient was that younger brother.

The paramedics had swept into the ER a few minutes later. The head nurse, Sonya, had grabbed the chart they'd started. "Room 5," she told the medics. As they wheeled the gurney down the hallway, Linda glanced up at the new patient. The teenager looked completely spooked, eyes wide, one hand clutching the rails of the gurney, the other tightly holding on to the hand of a police officer. She recognized the officer as the cop who'd been at the hospital in Brooklyn with the injured Officer Reagan. And now here he was with the kidnapped Reagan boy. _What a strange coincidence._

Room 5 had been a hive of activity after that. Doctor Logan had examined Jamie and diagnosed him with a probable broken ankle, and they were waiting for a spot to open up in x-ray so the extent of the damage could be determined. As soon as the doctor exited the room, the police detective and photographer had entered, then exited abruptly not long afterward. Sonya followed after them, warning Linda to not let them back in, before going to find Doctor Logan. Once Sonya found him, the doctor put a stop to any further questioning in a tense conversation in the hallway Linda had witnessed. "Young Mr. Reagan is not dying; his only injury of any concern is that ankle, so he'll be alive for you interrogate tomorrow, after we've fixed his ankle and he's had a chance to recover," Doctor Logan had snapped at the detective. Sonya had stood at the doctor's side, nodding in approval.

As soon as the detectives headed for the waiting room, Sonya turned to her. "Linda, Officer Reagan is staying with his brother. He's expecting the rest of the family to arrive shortly. Let them go see him as soon as they arrive. But let's try not to disturb our patient otherwise. That poor boy needs to rest."

 _Officer Reagan. His brother. That explains it_ , Linda thought. The cop was obviously the brother of both the other Reagans. She tried to push down the inappropriate thought that he was probably a real cutie when he wasn't at a hospital worrying over an injured brother.

It was half an hour later when the rest of the Reagan family had arrived. Linda was at the nurse's station, updating Jamie's record in the hospital computer system, when the middle aged couple had rushed in, followed by a man she recognized as the injured Officer Reagan, limping in a walking cast, being assisted by a younger woman who looked enough like him that she had to be his sister. The detective who'd been hanging out in the ER waiting room met them halfway to the desk, conferring briefly with the older man before leading the family to her. "Nurse, meet the rest of the Reagan family. They'd like to see Jamie," he told her.

"I'll take you right to him. Meet me around the corner." Linda led them back to Room 5, and knocked lightly on the door before pushing it open. "Jamie? Officer Reagan?" She peeked in the room to find both Jamie and Danny crowded onto the small bed, Jamie curled up on his right side, using his brother's shoulder for a pillow as he slept. Danny's left arm wrapped behind his brother's body, his hand resting on Jamie's forehead, holding him securely against his shoulder.

Danny looked up at her from his position stretched out on the bed and motioned for her to be quiet. When he spotted his family behind her, he gently shook his brother to rouse him. "Jamie. Wakey-wakey. You've got visitors," he told his brother.

She watched as Jamie blinked several times as he woke up, a smile spreading across his face as he spotted his parents. Then the Reagans were rushing past her and within seconds, Jamie was wrapped in his mother's and father's arms.

-BB-BB-BB-

OCTOBER 11, 2012, THURSDAY EARLY AM

Danny slowly eased off Jamie's bed and joined his wife in the hallway. "What's that look about?" he asked.

"Just remembering the last time I saw you sharing a bed with your brother."

Danny knew exactly when she was talking about. "He was exhausted. His broken ankle had kept him awake for days, and then all you medical types started poking and prodding him, and then the detectives showed up to photograph his injuries. But even at the hospital, he wouldn't let himself fall asleep. That was the only way I could get him to relax enough to rest."

"You made him feel safe," Linda remarked, unknowingly echoing Frank's remarks from fifteen years earlier. "Probably one reason he's handled the situation as well as he has."

Danny took one more look back at his brother, who appeared to be sleeping soundly. "He was having that nightmare again. I'm sorry if the baby monitor woke you," Danny whispered as he led her back to their bedroom. He'd set up Jack and Sean's old baby monitor and hidden it under the bed in Sean's room, so he could hear if Jamie started sleepwalking.

"Do you think he found it?" Linda asked quietly.

Danny looked back at his wife with a smirk. "Oh, you'll know if he finds that thing. Believe me, the whole neighborhood will know." He dropped onto their bed. "But for now, let's get back to sleep. Maybe Jamie will be a good baby brother and sleep through the rest of the night."

* * *

A/N: Just a short chapter tonight, and tomorrow, Marjorie returns!


	12. Chapter 11 - Steps Forward

**CHAPTER 11 – STEPS FORWARD**

OCTOBER 11, 2012, THURSDAY AFTERNOON - MANHATTAN

Nicki checked her backpack, making sure she had all the books she needed for the evening's homework. "Okay, let's go," she told her friend Sarah as she closed her locker.

"Can you believe Mr. Hoskins assigned us a three page report today and made it due on Monday? It's not fair. It'll take all weekend," Sarah griped. "'Write about an historical event using primary sources,' he says. What are 'primary sources' anyway? History is _so_ lame."

"It's stuff like newspapers. Sources from the time an event happened. Weren't you paying attention?" Nicki teased.

"Nerd."

"Come on, lets get to the library now, so we can get it out of the way," Nicki told her friend as they began walking toward the branch library located only a few blocks away from Blessed Heart Academy. Nicki scanned the street. No tan minivans in sight. A group of students, all wearing the uniform of the school, walked a half-block ahead of them, likely headed for the same place they were. A few other people, some of whom she recognized as workers at the school, also were walking about. But no one that fit the description her mother had given her of Marjorie Thornsberg. As they walked, Nicki and Sarah planned out how they would tackle this report.

They stopped for a traffic light three blocks from the library. Nicki looked around again, and spotted a vehicle that could be _her_ tan minivan half a block behind them. "Sarah, look at that minivan. What does the driver look like?"

"Nicki, we don't have time to play cops and robbers," Sarah griped.

"Sarah, please. It's important."

"An older lady with short hair and glasses," Sarah responded after checking out the driver.

Nicki checked traffic, grabbed Sarah's arm and, not waiting for the light to change, darted across the street. She immediately turned right and walked quickly down the side street.

"Nicki, what are you doing? We could've gotten hit by a car, and this isn't the way to the library!"

"Is she still back there?" Nicki asked.

"She just turned right also." Sarah said. "Nicki, what's going on?"

Nicki picked up her pace. "Keep watching her." As they reached another cross street, Nicki turned left and jogged down the road.

"Nicki, what's going on?" Sarah asked as she jogged alongside her friend. "Nicki, that lady just turned left, too. Is she following us?"

"I think so." Nicki was running now, dragging Sarah along behind her. They made another left turn. "We need to get inside somewhere," she panted.

The two girls sprinted around the corner and ducked into the first building. It appeared to be some kind of professional office. Nicki ran up to the receptionist desk. "Help us. This lady is following us. We need to hide."

The woman looked up at them skeptically.

"Please, help us." Nicki felt tears starting to well up. "My grandfather, Frank Reagan, is the police commissioner, and this woman.. she kidnapped my uncle, and she's trying to kidnap me… she wants to get back at him…" Nicki gasped.

A man about her grandfather's age stepped out of the first office behind the reception area. "Ladies, I'm Mr. Elkins. You may use my office," he said, pushing a business card into Nicki's hand and gently nudging her toward the office. "Do you want to call the police yourself, or do you want me to call?"

"I'll do it. Thank you," Nicki called while dashing to the indicated office. She ran to the far side of Mr. Elkins's large desk and sat down on the floor, out of sight. Picking up her phone, she scrolled through the speed-dials to her grandfather's number. He answered on the second ring with a warm _Hello, Sweetheart_.

"Grandpa," Nicki whispered. "Grandpa, we need help. She followed Sarah and me when we were walking to the library after school…"

Frank didn't even ask who. "Nicki, are you in a safe place? Tell me where you are."

"We're at this law firm. Elkins, Cranston and Smith." She quietly read their address off the business card the attorney had given her. "Mr. Elkins sent us to his office."

"Nicki, she's here!" Sarah hissed. She dropped down beside Nicki, behind the desk. "She's asking the receptionist and that man about us."

"Grandpa, Sarah says she's here," Nicki whispered. "Grandpa, what do we do?" She couldn't keep the tremble out of her voice.

"Sweetheart, stay quiet and out of sight. A patrol unit is on its way," Frank reassured his granddaughter. "They'll be there soon. I asked for an extra patrol near your school in the afternoon. They're just around the corner," he said, talking to keep her calm. "And your Uncle Jamie is on his way also. He'll take Sarah home and take you to your mother."

"Grandpa, I hear the patrol car."

"Okay, Nicki. Just stay where you are until the officers come for you. They need to clear the scene first." He stayed on the phone with Nicki until the first patrol unit arrived on scene and reported no sign of Ms. Thornsberg or her minivan; until Jamie and his partner Vinnie arrived shortly after that to escort Sarah to her home and Nicki to her mother's office. Then he made a phone call to his daughter. Erin needed to know what had just happened.

ERIN REAGAN'S OFFICE

"Mom!" Nicki ran across the office and threw herself into her mother's arms.

Erin hugged her daughter tightly. "Nicki, honey, thank God you're safe." She looked up at her brother. "Jamie, thanks for bringing her here."

Jamie didn't respond the way she'd expected. Instead of brushing off her comments, he nodded sharply, then turned on one heel and quickly walked out of her office.

Erin released her daughter. "Jamie?" she called after her brother before following him into the hallway. "Jamie, what's wrong?"

Jamie leaned back against the wall, fidgeting with the brim of his uniform hat he held tightly in his hands. "You shouldn't be thanking me. This is my fault. If it weren't for me, Nicki wouldn't be in any danger."

Erin pulled Jamie's hat out of his hands and hugged him tightly. "No, Jamie. This isn't your fault, it's _her_ fault. Marjorie Thornsberg's fault. If it weren't for her crazy need for revenge, or whatever she's after…"

"She's looking for an easy target. I guess Nicki was easier to find than me." Jamie interrupted as he pulled free of Erin's hug.

"Jamie, this is not your fault," Erin insisted again. "And if she thinks Nicki is an easy target, she's in for a surprise. That girl is a fighter."

Jamie laughed humorlessly. "I tried to fight back, remember? It didn't do any good. All it got me was some extra bruises, and Tasered a few times, and a busted ankle."

"You remember how you hurt your leg!" Erin exclaimed. The fact that Jamie couldn't remember how that injury occurred had troubled the whole family since the day they'd rescued him.

Jamie shook his head, pushing down the shadows that were trying to creep into his consciousness. "Dunno. I must have been resisting, right? How else would I have broken it?"

Erin pulled Jamie back into a hug. "It's okay, little brother. We're just glad you're safe with us."

-BB-BB-BB-

Later that night, Nicki lay in her bed, trying to get to sleep. Finally she gave up, rolled out of her bed and headed down the short hallway toward her mother's bedroom. "Mom?" Nicki tapped on the doorframe.

"Nicki. Come here." Erin put the book she was reading down on her nightstand. "What's up?"

"Couldn't get to sleep," Nicki replied as she sat down on the bed beside her mother. "Can I sleep in here tonight?"

"Of course." Erin pulled her daughter into a tight embrace.

"When she kidnapped him, Uncle Jamie was the same age I am now." Nicki commented a few minutes later. "Do you think that's why she tried to get me?"

"I don't know, Nic. I wish I knew what she was up to," Erin remarked. "But I'm so glad you're safe here tonight, and I'm not going through the hell your grandmother went through back then. She couldn't stop thinking about what might be happening to your Uncle Jamie…"

FEBRUARY 4, 1998, WEDNESDAY MORNING - REAGAN HOME, BAY RIDGE

Erin placed a plate on the table in front of her mother."Mom, you need to eat something for breakfast."

Mary Reagan looked down at the toast and fruit Erin had put before her. "Do you think that woman is feeding Jamie? He wakes up so hungry these days…" Mary sucked in a sharp breath. "Oh, God, did he even wake up this morning?"

Frank put down his coffee mug and reached over to hold his wife's hand. "Yes, he woke up this morning," he stated, even though he had no facts to back up that assertion. "And, yes, he's probably hungry. But he knows we're coming for him," he concluded.

"How can I eat when my baby boy is going hungry?"

"Because we are going to find him, and he's going to need you when we do," Frank tried to reason. "You need to keep your strength up."

"Please, Mom, just a few bites?" Erin begged.

"I can't." Mary pushed the plate away, then suddenly stood up and ran from the kitchen to the nearby bathroom. Frank stood up and followed his wife out of the room.

Erin picked up the breakfast her mother clearly wasn't going to eat and carried it to the sink.

"Hey, Sis, before you toss that, can I have a shot at it?"

"Joe! You're up." Erin turned around and carried the plate back to the table.

Joe carefully eased himself into a chair. "I'm up." He grabbed the toast with his undamaged left hand. "Good thing you made finger food," he joked weakly.

Erin checked over her brother. He looked even worse than he had the night before, when she and John had driven him home from the hospital. The bruises had darkened overnight to deep purples and reds, tinged in yellow, and his slow, stiff movements testified to aching muscles, and all of that was on top of the broken right hand and badly sprained ankle. "Do you need those painkillers the doctor gave you last night?"

"No." Joe said, even as lifting the toast to his mouth caused him to wince in pain.

"Joey, quit lying," Erin demanded.

Joe handed her the child-proofed pill bottle. "Maybe just one. But you have to open the bottle for me. What kind of genius gives a person with one working hand a bottle that requires at least two to open?"

Erin had just wrestled the cap off the bottle when her parents walked back into the kitchen. Mary helped Frank shrug into his overcoat. "Frank, you will let us know as soon as you hear anything," she demanded. "Anything."

"And Dad, find something I can do to help. Please," Joe asked.

Frank hugged his wife, kissing the top of her head, and nodded to Joe as he left the house.

Mary turned her attention to Joe. "Honey, how are you feeling today?"

"Little sore," Joe replied, playing down his injuries.

"Liar," Erin mouthed at Joe over their mother's head. She dropped a glass of water and one of his pain pills in front of him.

Mary watched Joe swallow the pill. "Joey, how much do Tasers hurt?" she finally asked her son.

"Mom, don't do this," Joe begged.

"Please, Joe. I need to know."

Joe sighed. "It hurts. The metals probes sticking in your skin hurt, and the jolt of electricity running through them hurts. I don't even know what to compare it to."

Mary choked on a sob, and both Joe and Erin moved to hug her.

"But, Mom, that's just for a few min… a few moments," Joe tried to reassure his mother.

"What about today? How much does it hurt the next day?" Mary whispered.

"You're asking what Jamie is feeling today." At his mother's nod, Joe finally continued. "Sore. Achy. Like he overdid it at the gym." Joe hugged his mother tighter. "Mom, he's going to be fine. He's strong. He'll get through this."

Mary sniffled. "I hope so." She looked over at the half-eaten breakfast. "Joey, you need more food than that. Let me cook you some eggs and fresh toast."

"A couple of eggs would be good. But only if you'll make one for yourself," Joe insisted.

"Okay. Three eggs and some toast, coming right up," Mary said as she pulled free from her children's embrace.

Erin also stood up from the table. "I'm going to check on Nicki." She tried to push down her annoyance that Joe had succeeded in getting her mother to eat, when she had failed. Favorite little baby. That's what Joe had been, until Jamie came along. But she wasn't being fair. Their mother didn't play favorites. It was probably just that Joe, with his injuries, needed mothering right now. Mom couldn't do anything to help Jamie, so she was going to take care of the son she could help. Erin swiped at tears. And she would go take care of her own little baby.

Half an hour later, Erin was sitting on the sofa in the living room, holding her fed, burped and now sleeping baby when her mother and Joe joined her. Mary sat down next to her and reached over to touch Nicki's tiny hand. Nicki waved her fingers around and opened and closed her mouth, but didn't appear to wake up.

"Jamie was just like that, when he was a baby. He slept when he wanted to, and nothing would interrupt…" Mary stopped talking as a sob cut off the words.

Joe dropped on to the sofa beside his mother, sensing where her thoughts were going. "Mom, don't do this to yourself."

"I can't stop thinking about Jamie. Did he get any sleep last night, or did that woman or her associates keep him awake? Did they spend all night beating him until he's hurting so much that he can't sleep this morning? Or did they throw him on to a bed last night, only to hold him down and… and assault him, and he's lying there crying, wishing he could sleep to escape the pain and humiliation? Or did they just lock him up in some dark room and leave him there alone all night, curled up in terror and afraid to sleep?" Mary sobbed.

"Except for the curling up in terror part, your third scenario is likely the closest to reality." Frank's voice startled them all. They had been so involved in trying to comfort their mother they hadn't heard Henry let his son into the house.

"Dad!" Erin stood up from the sofa as her father and grandfather approached. "You've heard something?"

Frank sat down next to his wife on the sofa as Erin joined her grandfather behind it. "Her name is Marjorie Thornsberg. She used a homeless man to deliver a note to my office this morning." Frank handed a copy of the ransom demand, such as it was, to his wife.

Erin leaned over the sofa to read over her mother's shoulder. _My son, Andrew Parker Carrington, was murdered last year. You have done nothing to find those who took him away from me. I want justice for my son. To further that purpose, I have taken your son and will give him back to you once you have found those who took my son from me. Sincerely, Marjorie Thornsberg_ , she read. "Daddy, can you do that?"

"No, he can't," Joe said. "He can't reopen a case like that."

"Thank you, Commissioner Reagan. Any other policies you'd like to make?" Henry asked his grandson. "Of course he can reopen the case."

"Frank, please. Do what she asks. Do whatever it takes to get Jamie back," Mary begged, swiping at the tears running down her face.

Frank gripped his wife's hand. "I already have the lead detective taking another look at the case. Until we know what he concludes, there isn't much we can do on that angle."

"And if that detective comes to the same conclusion that didn't satisfy her before? What then?" Henry asked, voicing the question in the room no one had wanted to ask.

Mary choked on a sob as the implications of that question hit her.

"We don't let it get that far," Frank replied. "We find Jamie before that happens. Joe, that's where we could use your help, if you're up to desk duty. We need to track down any property she owns. Any place she might be hiding Jamie."

"Yes, sir," Joe almost jumped to his feet. "Give me one minute to get ready," he added, hobbling out of the room.

"Frank, how long will she give you to find the answer she wants?" Mary asked as she read Marjorie Thornsberg's note again. "How much time does Jamie have?"

Frank hugged his wife. "I don't know. But we'll find him in time," he promised.

-BB-BB-BB-

"…and your Grandmother tried to hold on to that promise. But it was so hard for her. Every time we would feed you, every time we put you down for a nap, every time we saw you entertaining yourself blowing spit bubbles…"

"Mom! I didn't do that," Nicki interrupted.

"Yes, you did. It was your favorite pastime for months. But it all remaindered her of Jamie, got her wondering if he was eating or sleeping, or how he was passing the time. Really, there was nothing that didn't make her think of Jamie."

"Must have been like walking on eggshells."

"More like she was the eggshell. The not knowing if Jamie was okay, or if he was hurt or what he might be going through just ate at her. At all of us.

"But didn't it help, knowing she needed to keep Uncle Jamie alive so Grandpa would find out what happened to her son?" Nicki asked.

"That first day, we didn't know if he was alive. We didn't know if she meant to keep her word and let him go. It wasn't until the next day that we got any proof…"

-BB-BB-BB-

Thursday morning, the second without Jamie, was much like the first. Mary forced herself to eat breakfast with Frank, Joe and Erin before the two men headed to work. Erin and her mother spent the morning taking care of baby Nicki. They had finally settled her down for a nap when Frank had returned home.

Mary looked up at her husband silently, unable to form a question.

"We haven't found him yet." Frank answered the question no one had dared to ask. "She sent another note this morning. And this." He held up two evidence envelopes, and gestured for his family to join him in the dining room.

Mary's eyes went right to the first envelope, and the newspaper scrap in it. The masthead of the _New York Times_ from the day before, with a signature scrawled across it in blue crayon. "That looks like Jamie's handwriting." She reached down to touch the plastic bag above her baby boy's crayoned signature.

"It is. And it means he was alive and able to sign his name yesterday. And she's not letting him go hungry." Frank pointed to the other envelope and the deli receipt contained inside.

"Ham and Swiss on wheat. 16-ounce Coke," Mary read off the receipt. "He doesn't like ham."

"I think he'll eat it anyway, honey. He's a smart kid," Henry commented. "Looks like she was smart enough to remove the location from the receipt," he added after studying the piece of paper.

"And paid in cash. She's not stupid. She thought this through," Frank stated.

Mary wiped at tears. "That's good, right? She has a plan and she's sticking to it, and we'll get Jamie back soon, right?" When her husband didn't reply, she looked up at him. "Frank?"

Frank held Mary close. "We're doing everything we can."

-BB-BB-BB-

"It was almost a week before your grandfather's and uncles' efforts paid off; before Joe connected those last few dots that led Danny and that detective to her lair. You grandmother tried so hard to be strong for all of us, but we knew her mind was always on what might be happening to Jamie."

"Mom, what did happen? I mean, Uncle Danny didn't give a lot of detail."

Erin brushed a lock of hair off her daughter's forehead. "Danny's summary was accurate, as far as it went. Ms. Thornsburg hired a couple of private investigators to kidnap Jamie. She told them that he was her son and was being held by his non-custodial father. Even had fake court papers that convinced the PI she was telling the truth. They grabbed him from the street in front of your grandfather's house, handed him over to her, and she held him in the attic of an old house she owned for a week, claiming she'd let him go once your grandfather found out who killed her son. It took almost a week for Joe to find where that house was, and then Danny and the lead detective rescued Jamie. Somewhere along the way, Jamie broke his ankle. But there are parts of what happened to him that we still don't know. Because he doesn't remember."

"Poor Uncle Jamie. That's horrible," Nicki commented. "But, wait? So Marjorie Thornsberg never found out what happened to her son?"

"Not that we know." Erin hugged Nicki closer. "And until she does, she'll be a threat to every one of us."


	13. Chapter 12 - A Few More Steps

A/N: Breaking my 'no posting on Friday' rule again. Oh well, rules are made to be broken, right? But don't forget to watch Blue Bloods later tonight! :D

* * *

 **CHAPTER 12 – A FEW MORE STEPS  
**

OCTOBER 12, 2012, EARLY FRIDAY – REAGAN HOME, STATEN ISLAND

Jamie lay on his back in his borrowed bed, staring up at the ceiling. He sighed, then turned to check the time on Sean's clock again. The glowing number read 2:13AM. Two-damn-thirteen in the damn morning, and here he was, wide awake with thoughts of that week keeping his brain from finding rest. "Damn it," he muttered quietly. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. Lying in bed wasn't getting him sleep, and he lain awake so long he was getting hungry. And trying to sleep hungry was sure to spark the nightmares. "Damn it," he cursed again as he stood up and headed for the kitchen.

A few minutes later, Jamie had just settled himself at the kitchen table with a bag of cookies and a glass of milk when Danny walked into the room. "Hey. What're you doing up?" Jamie asked.

Danny pulled a chair out from the table, spun it around and sat down straddling the seat. "Heard someone on the stairs," he explained. "What are you doing, besides raiding my junk food stash?"

Jamie sighed. "I couldn't sleep. Thought a snack might help. Load up on sugar and carbs and crash."

Danny gestured toward the pad of paper and pen Jamie had also collected. "You planning on writing a review of Linda's kitchen?"

"No," Jamie shook his head. "I've got to make myself remember what happened. Maybe if I do, it will stop these stupid nightmares so I can sleep through the night again. Whatever I've forgotten has to be connected to the nightmares somehow."

Danny snagged a couple of cookies out of the bag, along with the pen and paper. "Okay. We'll do this together. Where do you want to start?"

Jamie didn't respond right away. He pulled a few cookies out of the bag and stacked them neatly, then un-stacked them.

"Kid? What're you thinking?"

"Danny, you know what worries me the most now? The why. Why can't I remember? What happened that was so bad my brain buried it down in a hole?"

"I don't know, Jamie." Danny reached over to grip his brother's shoulder. "But we know a lot about what _didn't_ happen, from the medical exams and the evidence collected. There was no evidence she or anyone else sexually abused you. No evidence she drugged you. Other than that one bruise, no evidence she regularly physically abused you."

Jamie nodded. "What if they're wrong?"

"Then we'll deal with it. Whatever it was, you survived it. And we'll get through whatever it is together, okay?"

"Okay." Jamie picked up one of the cookies and twisted it apart. God, he didn't even like Oreos. Chocolate-flavored chalk with wallboard paste in the middle, that's all they were. He picked up the second cookie, twisted it apart also and neatly stacked the pieces, plain sides on the left, crème-coated ones on the right. He felt Danny's gaze on him again.

"Quit destroying my cookies for no reason. Eat them or talk," Danny demanded.

Jamie quirked a smile. He couldn't delay anymore. "It has something to do with Saturday. Because I can mostly remember everything up until then and after then. The kidnapping, _her_ forcing me up to the attic and zapping me into unconsciousness…"

"Let's start there. Tell me what you remember once you woke up. Every detail you can think of."

Jamie twisted apart the last cookie, just to keep his hands busy. "Now that I think about it, I'm not sure I was ever completely unconscious. I know I felt her cutting my hands loose. I wanted to crawl away, but I couldn't make anything move…"

"That's what Tasers do, kid. Not your fault," Danny interrupted.

"Then I heard the door slam shut and her locking it. Locking me in," Jamie continued. "As soon as I could move, I got the blindfold and gag off. I tried to open the door, but it was locked tight. I pounded on it, yelled for someone to help me, but I don't think anyone else was there. Checked the windows, but they were locked, in addition to having iron bars. I even checked the walls, but they were solid brick or solid wood; nothing I could break through. Then the sun went down, and it got so dark…"

FEBRUARY 3, 1998, TUESDAY NIGHT – THORNSBERG MANSION, LONG ISLAND

"Someone help me!" Jamie Reagan tried to yell as he banged on the window again. It came out as a hoarse whisper. He'd worn out his voice yelling for help, hoping someone outside would hear. But he couldn't tell if there was even anyone out there to hear his cries. The view from the window didn't reveal any other houses, or even a street. Just a long driveway that he'd seen _her_ use an hour earlier when she'd left him here alone. And now that the sun had set, he couldn't even see that. Couldn't see anything, not even across the small attic room, in the intense darkness.

He stumbled across the room to the door and once again tried to pull it open. "Let me out!" he demanded, even though he suspected no one else was in the house. He turned around and slid down until he was sitting on the floor with his back against the door and tried to mentally pull himself together. He couldn't… he wouldn't let himself give in to the overwhelming fear. "They're coming. Joey saw what happened. They'll be here soon," he tried to convince himself. And he was going to be awake when they did arrive. He pulled himself to his feet and began to pace around the room. Three steps from door to bed; seven from one end of the room to the other; three back across to the wall with the door; seven back to the door.

But as the hours passed, that hope for a quick rescue started to fade. He grew more and more hungry, and more and more tired with each lap around the room. Then a miscounted step resulted in him knocking his head into the sloped ceiling and falling to the floor. He pressed his hands over his eyes to prevent the tears he felt welling up from falling. His head hurt, every muscle in his body ached, it was dark, and he was hungry, tired and scared. Where was his rescue? Maybe Joe had been badly injured and hadn't been able to tell Dad anything… No. He couldn't start thinking like that. Joe had told Dad what he'd seen, they were on their way, and he'd be rescued soon. He just needed to rest for a few minutes. He crawled across the room so he could sit with his back against the door. He didn't want to miss any rescue, and he sure didn't want anyone sneaking into this room without him knowing about it. Despite his best intentions, within a few minutes, he was fast asleep.

He awoke the next morning as the room brightened when the sun rose. He sat up abruptly, angry that he'd let himself fall asleep during the night. What if rescuers had come overnight and hadn't found him because he'd been sleeping! Surely they would have checked the attic! He ran to the bed, crawled across it to the window and looked outside, but didn't see any evidence that anyone had been there. "Where are you?" he asked. "Dad, Danny, Joey, please help me." He sat on the bed, staring morosely out the window. No sign of rescue, but also no sign of _her_ or the kidnappers. He supposed he should be thankful for that last fact.

Nothing changed for several hours; until he heard the sound of someone walking up the stairs. He jumped to his feet as he heard the sound of the door locks being worked. _This is your chance!_ _When she opens the door, get out of here!_ He took a deep breath in, preparing to run.

As soon as _she_ opened the door, he sprang into action, darting toward the door as fast as he could. But she was ready for that. She stepped into the center of the doorframe and pushed her Taser into his right side as he tried to slip by. The electric charge sent him to the floor, gasping for breath and moaning in pain.

Without a word, she tucked the Taser into her pants pocket. She stood over him, silently watching as he recovered his senses. "Sit up," she demanded.

Jamie slowly complied, pulling his trembling frame into a sitting position against the wall, trying to control the panic that threatened to swallow him. _Dad wouldn't panic. Neither would Danny or Joey, so you can't either._ He drew his knees up to his chest, taking deep breaths to try to calm himself down. He finally looked up at her.

She stood there glaring down at him, then threw the newspaper and box of crayons she was holding to the floor beside him. "Sign you name across the top."

"Why should I?" Jamie snapped, his anger at the whole mess bubbling to the surface.

She moved one hand to the Taser protruding from the pocket of her pants. Jamie picked up on the implied threat, _because I can hurt you if you don't_. But then she turned and stepped out of the room. She returned seconds later holding a paper bag with the logo from a local deli chain printed on it. "Because you're hungry."

Jamie's stomach growled loudly at the smell. He immediately reached out for the bag.

"Not yet, little boy. Do what I told you to do," she demanded.

Jamie looked down at the newspaper and crayons. He _was_ hungry, and it couldn't hurt to sign a newspaper. At least it would let his family know he was alive. He picked up the box of crayons and pulled out the blue one – _blue, like Dad's and Danny's and Joe's uniforms_ – and signed his name across the masthead _._ He shoved the paper back toward her.

She scooped it up off the floor, ripped off the top half of the front page and dropped the rest of the newspaper and the deli bag onto the bed. "Now, that wasn't so hard. This doesn't have to be hard at all. If you will cooperate for a few days, I'll let you go. You give me your signature, I'll give you food, and in a few days this will all be over and you'll be back with your family."

"You _could_ let me go now," Jamie snipped at her. "Why are you doing this?

She shook her head as she backed out of the room. "No, I can't. I wish I could, but I won't get the answers I need if I let you go today. Maybe tomorrow or the next day. Until then, if you don't fight me, I won't harm you. Deal?"

Jamie just glared at her in response, and a moment later, she slammed the door. He heard the locks sliding in to place, sealing him in this attic prison. But now he had food! He scrambled across the floor and grabbed the sandwich and bottle of soda out of the bag. While he scarfed down the lunch, he perused the paper, looking for any story about his kidnapping, looking for any news about Joe's condition. As the afternoon went by, he worked the crossword puzzle (much harder to do in crayon than in pencil!) and circled words and letters in the newspaper stories to spell out messages. _Jamie Reagan was here... Help... Owner of this house is a kidnapper... If found, call NYPD-Reagan..._ He wasn't sure who he thought would see the messages, but it kept his mind occupied and off the fact that he was locked up in an attic with no idea why he was there or when or if he was going to get out…

-BB-BB-BB-

"… and that's about how the next two days went. Wait for her to bring lunch, give her proof of life, try to stay mentally busy," Jamie concluded.

"And then it was Saturday…" Danny prompted.

Jamie frowned. "It was cold. Snowing." He looked at Danny for confirmation of those facts.

Danny nodded as a theory began forming in his brain. _Saturday… Saturday._ He glanced down at his notes. Jamie had provided a few details he hadn't heard before. _What is it about Saturday?_

"I knew that snow meant there would be fewer people looking for me. I wanted to go home. I was cold and hungry and tired of being locked up alone in that room. But I couldn't get out without her Tasering me. She'd already proven that."

"Damn, Jamie," Danny interrupted, slapping one hand on the table. "Saturday."

Jamie stared at him in confusion. "Huh?"

"Kid, think about what you just told me. That deal she made with you, to not hurt you if you cooperated? It was over on Saturday. She told you she might let you go 'tomorrow' – Thursday – or the next day – Friday – but she hadn't made any promises about Saturday."

Jamie sat back in his chair, staring open-mouthed at Danny. Why hadn't he made that connection before? Shadows began creeping into his mind. _Something moving downstairs toward him. Pain. Fear. Panic. You're gonna die right here…_ He tried to pull the images into focus, but they quickly flittered away into nothingness. "We didn't have a deal. She made an offer; I never accepted it. Therefore, no deal," Jamie argued, just to fill the silence.

"Not the time, Harvard. Besides, can't you accept by your actions?"

Jamie tried to laugh between short breaths. "Jeez, Danny, when did you go to law school? Yeah, performance is one method of accepting an offer. I guess I did do what she told me to Thursday and Friday. But I don't know what happened Saturday."

"The deal had ended, so all bets were off," Danny thought out loud. "No more promise not to hurt you. Knowing that, what would you have done?"

"Tried to get away?" Jamie asked. "I know that's what I do now, but back then… I was only fifteen…"

"With a mile-wide stubborn streak, if I remember right. I can't picture you sitting around being the compliant hostage for very long. Do you remember anything about trying to escape?"

"I don't know! Trying to get away would make sense, wouldn't it?" Jamie leaned forward, cradling his head in his hands. "But I can't remember anything. God, it's just a black hole," he finally stated. "The only thing I know for sure is that by the end of the day, I'd broken my ankle. And she didn't bring food at lunchtime, like she had been; it was evening before she showed up with the food, and she was angry with me. And…" Jamie rubbed his forehead.

"And?" Danny prompted when Jamie didn't continue.

"She didn't get her proof of life. Didn't ask me to sign the newspaper, and she didn't take the front page. Why not?" Jamie wondered.

"I don't know, kid." Danny gently squeezed his brother's shoulder. "Maybe she was angry at Dad, and not at you. Wanted to make him suffer by not giving him proof you were still alive?"

"Maybe. Felt like she was angry at me, though."

"Could be you were just a convenient target for her anger at Dad." Danny remarked. _Convenient target. A target she slapped around and shoved down the stairs? That would explain his injuries…_ "Jamie, did she push you down the stairs?"

Jamie looked up at him. "I fell," he said, even as half-formed images flashed through his head. _Lying at the bottom of the stairs, his ankle hurting._ Her _walking down the same stairs, slowly, menacingly. A blinding white burst of panic squeezing out every other thought…_ "I think I fell. I don't know," he stammered. "I don't know what I did."

"Jamie, don't even start blaming yourself for anything." Danny commanded. God, he'd had to deal with enough misplaced blame fifteen years ago from Joe; Jamie didn't need to start up now. "Whatever happened is…"

"Not my fault. I know. Erin already told me that," Jamie interrupted. "But there could be something we're missing because my memory is blanking out. Something important. She tried to get Nicki today. If I could just remember, maybe we could stop her."

"Kiddo, we'll figure it out. Let's skip Saturday for now. What about Sunday?" Danny asked when Jamie didn't continue his recollection.

"Cold, hungry, tried of the whole thing, just like Saturday, except my ankle was busted so I couldn't walk, not even after I splinted it with the newspaper. And she didn't bring lunch. Didn't show up at all. And you know what happened Monday."

"Monday afternoon, Halsey and I pulled your ass out of her little prison cell and got you back to the family," Danny said as he pulled his brother into an easy hug. "Focus on that memory tonight. Maybe it'll keep away the bad ones."

But it didn't. If anything, the nightmare was worse as Jamie's mind incorporated images of his niece and nephews being trapped and in danger into the dreams.


	14. Chapter 13 - Closing In

**CHAPTER 13 – CLOSING IN**

OCTOBER 12, 2012 – STATEN ISLAND

Linda parked her well-worn minivan in the pick-up lane in front of her sons' parochial school. Since she'd started working at St. Vincent's, she'd set up a new Friday afternoon routine with her boys. She'd pick them up at school and they'd go out for ice cream and conversation. It gave her a chance to catch up on anything she may have missed during the week. She spent a few minutes conversing with the other parents before the school's bell rang and children poured out of the school. Sean found her first, throwing himself into her arms.

"Hey, buddy! Where's your brother?"

Sean made a face. "He's talking to a _girl_. Can we leave him here and go get ice cream?"

"No, we can't." Linda scruffed Sean's hair. "Besides, here he comes now," Linda added as she saw Jack walking toward the van. Talking to a girl, like Sean had said. _He can't be old enough to have a girlfriend already…_ Linda mused. She watched the girl wave to Jack, then turn and walk toward her parent's car, a brand new SUV. Something caught her eye, and Linda took a second look. There was a tan minivan parked behind that SUV. A tan minivan with one occupant, an older female. Too old to be a parent. But maybe it was a grandmother? Linda decided not to take any chances, considering Nicki's encounter yesterday. "Boys, get in the car. Now," she ordered, even as she pushed Sean into the vehicle. "Jack, help Sean get belted in, okay?" she added before she slammed the door shut behind Jack and ran around the car to the driver's seat. She picked up her cell phone, debating whether she should call her husband. _Not yet. It could be someone else, picking up their grandchild._ But she kept the phone in her hand, her finger hovering over the speed dial that would connect her to Danny.

"Everyone secured back there?" she called to her boys.

"Yes, Ma," they replied in near unison.

"Okay, then let's go get some ice cream," she told them. She pulled her car out of the parking lane. She checked the rear view mirror. The tan minivan was also pulling out. She pushed the call button on her phone.

"Hey, Babe," Danny answered on the second ring.

"Hey, yourself." Linda suddenly struggled to find the words.

"What's up, Lin?" Danny asked.

"I just picked the boys up from school." She hesitated again. "Babe, I don't want you to panic, but I think that minivan we talked about the other night might be behind us." She hoped Danny would pick up on what she meant without her having to go in to too many details that might worry their boys.

"Linda, tell me where you are," Danny demanded, the worry evident in his voice.

Linda checked the street sign they were passing and relayed the address to her husband. In the background, she heard him calling for his partner.

"Okay, Babe. Jackie's getting a patrol unit dispatched. Keep driving. Don't head home, and don't stop unless they've pulled her over, okay? I'm on my way."

"Danny, I'm going to head toward Parkview Hospital." She could hear Danny running down stairs.

"Good. There'll be people there. But don't stop if she's still following you, got it? Head somewhere else."

"Mommy, why are we going to the hospital? I thought it was ice cream day?" Sean asked.

"We're still going for ice cream. We're going to meet Daddy at the hospital first. He's visiting someone," Linda told her son. "Boys, say hello to your father." She held the phone out.

"Daddy, hello!" Jack called. Sean chimed in with a "Hi, Daddy," a second later.

Linda moved the phone back to her ear. "Babe, I need to put the phone down. Traffic is getting busy," she told her husband.

"Okay. But don't hang up. Keep the line open," Danny ordered. "Love you."

"Love you more," Linda put the phone down within easy reach in the center console. She checked the rear view mirror. The minivan was still back there, but no patrol car yet. "Boys, let's play the street sign game. Every time we cross a street, the first one to yell out the street name gets a point, okay?"

"Bay Ave," Sean called out right away.

"Doofus, it's Bay Avenue," Jack stated.

"Well, its spelled Ave," Sean argued. "Like the song from church."

"It's an arb… arbreviation."

"Abbreviation," Linda corrected. "Oops! There went Ocean Drive. One point for Mommy," Linda called out for Danny's benefit.

"Waters Street!" Jack called out a few moments later.

As they neared the next street, Linda spotted a patrol car sitting at the cross street. Linda scooped up her phone. "Danny?"

"Babe, there should be a unit at the next street. Officers Gonzales and Sanderson. Flash you headlights so they know they've got you."

"Yeah, I see them." Linda flipped the headlights on and off, and one of the officers briefly lit up the patrol car's lights in acknowledgement. As soon as she crossed the intersection, the patrol car turned in behind them.

"Lin, they're getting ready to pull over _her_ minivan. You keep going to Parkview, okay? Gonzales will follow you."

"Got it," Linda replied.

"Good. I'll be there soon." Danny paused for a minute. "Love you, babe."

Twenty minutes later, Danny had brought his car to a screeching halt in the hospital parking lot. He leapt out of the car and was at Linda's side within seconds, pulling her into a tight hug.

"Danny, we're fine. Nothing happened," Linda tried to reassure her husband.

"I know, I know. But she could have…" Danny hugged her tighter.

"Babe, don't scare the boys. I told them you were visiting a friend here, and then we would go out for ice cream."

Danny finally released her, and looked over at Jackie.

"Go on," she waved him off. "I'll clear it with Gromley."

"Thanks, partner," he called before heading for Linda's minivan and time with his family.

-BB-BB-BB-

When the family arrived back at their home after a relaxing few hours of ice cream and playing at the nearby park, they found Jamie already there, watching TV. Danny immediately noticed Jamie's duffle bag sitting by the front door, and motioned for his brother to join him in the kitchen. "Hey, little brother, what's up with the packed bag?" he asked.

"I'm moving over to Dad's," Jamie informed his brother. "Vinnie is coming by in a few minutes, we're going out for dinner and beers with a few of the guys from the 12th, and then I'm heading home to Dad's."

"No, you're not. You're staying right here, where you're safe."

"Danny, I'm going out for an evening of relaxing with the guys, then I'm moving over to Dad's."

"Okay on the going out, but then you're coming back here."

"I'm not going to keep putting your family in danger, Danny! I heard about what happened today. I'm not going to be responsible for your boys being kidnapped!" Jamie almost yelled at his brother.

"So you're going to put yourself, and Dad and Grandpop in danger instead! Kid, she knows where the house is. It would be the easiest place in the world for her to find you!"

"Well, maybe I should go where she can find me." Jamie sagged back against the kitchen counter. "At least, then the rest of the family will be safe from _her_."

Danny fixed an incredulous glare on his brother. "Harvard, I can't believe you just said something that stupid! You need to be someplace where _you're_ safe from her, and that's right here. She doesn't know where you are! If she did, she wouldn't be trying to follow the kids home from school."

"You really think that's all she's trying to do? Follow your kids to find me, so she can kidnap me again?"

"That's what Dad seems to think."

Jamie shook his head. "I don't know. I just have this feeling... I think it's more than that this time."

"More? Like how?"

"I don't know. I just can't stop thinking that she wants me dead. And I don't think she cares who else gets hurt. Your boys or Nicki, or even you or Erin. As long as I'm around, none of you will be safe. Not until she's back in prison, or until she get her damn answers."

Danny moved to stand beside his brother. "Well, she's back in jail for tonight at least, thanks to Erin's restraining order, so we're all safe tonight even with you around. And we're working on that answers thing tomorrow, right?"

"Right," Jamie finally agreed.

He heard the doorbell ring and his wife greeting Vinnie Cruz. He bumped Jamie's shoulder with his. "So go out and relax tonight. But be back here at eleven. We'll be waiting up for you."

Jamie rolled his eyes. "Yes, 'Father.' I am grounded if I miss curfew?" he joked as he headed for the living room.

"For life!"

Jamie ignored his brother. "Hey, Vin," he greeted his partner.

"Officer Cruz," Danny greeted. "I assume you weren't followed?"

Vinnie smiled. "No, sir. I kept an eye out."

Jamie laughed. "Yeah, Vinnie always keeps an eye out. He never knows when one of his crazy ex-girlfriends is going to be stalking him."

"Hey, they're not crazy. They just can't get enough of me," Vinnie joked.

"Come on, Vin. Let's go find your next ex-girlfriend." Jamie led his partner out of the house.

Danny moved to stand behind Linda. "Aaaand baby brother is out of the house until fifty-nine seconds after eleven o'clock," he whispered, wrapping his arms around his wife's waist. "The boys go to bed at ten, which gives you a whole hour and fifty-nine seconds to redeem your points from the street sign game."

"Hmmm. But I only earned one point." Linda leaned back into Danny's embrace.

"Mommy gets credit for the points the boys earned. Which gives you just enough points for the grand prize." Danny leaned over to nuzzle the back of his wife's neck, in case she had any doubts about what that 'grand prize' was.

Linda turned around in Danny's arms and quickly kissed him. "Save it for quarter after ten, loverboy."

-BB-BB-BB-

 _"Help me, help, let me out."_ Jamie's voice and the sound of a door being rattled carried through the baby monitor, yanking Danny from slumber. He groaned and reached for the monitor, hoping to turn it off before it woke his wife. Instead, his arm only found his wife's soft back. She'd ended up on his side of the bed somehow. "Sorry, Babe," he apologized as he watched her sit up and shrug into her robe.

"'s okay. I needed to get up anyway." Linda gestured toward the bathroom.

The sound of footsteps in the hallway and the creak of the loose floorboard near the top of the stairs startled them both. "Lin, stop him," Danny called. He hopped out of bed and fumbled into his pajama pants.

Linda ran out the bedroom door. "Jamie, stop!"

Jamie was already halfway down the stairs. At the sound of Linda's voice, he came to an abrupt halt, stopping so fast he had to grab the banister to stop his momentum from causing him to fall. He turned toward them, his eyes going wide as he spotted Linda. "Please don't hurt me. Please let me go. I wanna go home," he whimpered. "Please."

 _God, he sounds like he's fifteen again. Fifteen and terrified. Not like an almost thirty year old cop._ "Jamie, relax. You're safe here," Danny tried to reassure his brother as he moved down the stairs.

"No. No. Please don't shoot me. Please let me go," Jamie begged, his gaze still focused on Linda. He stumbled down one step.

 _'Don't shoot me?' What the hell?_ Danny wondered as he edged closer to his brother. In response, Jamie clumsily moved down another step. "Jamie, don't move," Danny barked. Linda's presence apparently was sparking some kind of flashback. Maybe if he played along, Jamie would stop moving; stop risking a nasty fall. He turned back to Linda and motioned for her to get out of sight. He clasped his hands in front of him in the shape of a gun. "Hey kid, NYPD. _She_ got downstairs. I need you to sit down so I can get around you and go arrest her. Can you do that for me?" Danny whispered.

Jamie's gaze tracked from the spot Linda had been standing to his brother, with no sign of recognition.

"NYPD. Get down, kid," Danny whispered again. This time, Jamie complied, slowly lowering himself to the stair. Danny ran past his brother, threw open the door to the coat closet and rattled the hangers about for a few moments, hopefully enough to convince his brother he was arresting someone. He left the closet and headed up the stairs, where Jamie sat with his eyes closed, leaning against the banister.

"Coats put up much of a fight?" Jamie asked. He eased his eyes open as he heard Danny approaching.

Danny sat down next to his brother. "And just how long have you been back in the real world?"

Jamie snickered. "I think you roughing up the outerwear woke me up."

"You know those leather jackets. They're all attitude," Danny joked. He reached over to grip his brother's shoulder. "Jamie, a few minutes ago, in that nightmare, after you saw Lin, you begged her not to shoot you. What was that about?"

"I did?" Jamie frowned. " _She_ only had the Taser, right? They didn't find any other weapons?"

"A couple of antiques; historical relics. But, kid, you were the one who was there."

"I don't know. Maybe I was thinking, don't shoot me with the Taser?"

"I think the phrase you're looking for is, 'Don't taze me, bro.'"

Jamie laughed weakly. "I could've started a trend."

"You ready to head back upstairs?" Danny asked a few minutes later.

Jamie slowly stood up. "Guess so. We've got an early morning tomorrow."


	15. Chapter 14 - Recollection

**CHAPTER 14 – RECOLLECTION**

OCTOBER 13, 2012, SATURDAY - 1PP

Bright and early Saturday morning, the Reagan men, minus Henry, who was spending the day with his great-grandsons, convened in the Commissioner's office with the file on Andrew Parker Carrington's death and began reviewing the evidence collected and the reports made. Danny pulled one folder out of the box and tossed it to his brother. "Here, Harvard. Read all that medical jargon and translate for the rest of us."

Jamie picked up the file. "Medical Examiner's BS," he read off the label.

"Not the title I would have given that folder, but it wasn't my case," Danny commented with a smirk.

Jamie opened the file to the first summary report. Danny was right; the medical examiner had concluded the gunshot would that killed Parker Carrington was self-inflicted. He turned to the next page and scanned the information. One sentence caught his attention. The bullet was an unusual caliber and material; the most likely gun that would use that ammunition was an antique Colt revolver. He read those words again. And again. Antique Colt revolver. Colt revolver. An image flashed into his head – a woman standing at the top of a staircase, aiming a huge old revolver at him, yelling something down at him. The file dropped to the table from his suddenly numb hands. "Oh, God," he mumbled. He clutched his head and leaned his elbows forward onto the table as the memories crowded into his consciousness.

FEBRUARY 7, 1998, SATURDAY – MARJORIE THORNSBERG'S MANSION

Jamie Reagan curled up tighter on the bed and pulled the blanket closer around his shivering body. This morning seemed colder than the last few. He wondered how bitterly cold it had to get outside before he'd freeze to death in this attic. _That_ would show them. _See, Danny, Joe and Dad. You took your time finding me, and look what happened. Take that._ No. He had to stop that train of thought. His family and the NYPD were looking for him; it was just taking longer than he had expected.

He sat up and looked out the window. The snow that had started falling late the night before was still coming down. Jamie glared hatefully at the eight inches of snow that had collected against the window pane. That stupid snow meant Danny and some of the other officers looking for him were probably going to be pulled back to their regular duties or traffic control. He smacked the window and yelled in frustration. He was so tired of this stupid room, tired of being cold, tired of being hungry, tired of being alone. He wanted to go home. Home, to his siblings and his grandparents and his mother and father. His father, who hadn't raised his children to sit around feeling sorry for themselves when things got tough. Jamie tried to pull himself together. Maybe his family would be too busy today to help him, but surely there was something he could do to help himself. What he needed was a way to get out the door without her zapping him with that damn Taser. He wrapped the blanket around his back and hugged the pillow to his chest as a plan began forming in his mind.

Once he'd come up with his escape plan, he hadn't been able to sit still. The sound of his footsteps as he paced across the small room almost caused him to miss the sound of _her_ footsteps on the stairs. She was earlier than he had expected; she had been checking in on him in early afternoon, and it was still morning. But that just meant he'd be home sooner! He grabbed the pillow from the bed and hid beside the door, waiting for her to open it. Waiting, and trying to keep his breathing quiet. _Open the door, open the door!_

Finally, he heard the sound of keys in the locks. As soon as she opened it a crack, he shoved his toe in the gap and kicked it open, then spun around and began hitting _her_ with the pillow as hard as he could. He heard the sound of the Taser skittering across the floor and her indignant yelps as he hit her again with the pillow and shoved her out of his way. He dashed across the attic and down the stairs to the third floor on legs that were shaking so much he was afraid he'd fall. He slammed into the wall at the bottom of the stairs as his sock-clad feet found little traction on the wood floor. Another quick dash across the third floor landing brought him to the main staircase and down the stairs toward the second floor, his heart racing as he got closer to his goal of the front door and, beyond that, freedom.

Then it all went wrong. _She_ screamed in fury, a vicious, primal sound, and he turned slightly to see her standing at the top of the stairs, holding a huge revolver. His foot landed on the front edge of the stair tread and rolled off, hitting the next stair down at an awkward angle and twisting beneath him. He reached out for the railing, missed, and instead used his arms to protect his head as he tumbled down the remaining steps, his legs, torso and arms slamming into the hard edges of the stairs as he fell to the second floor. He took a moment to get his breath back, even as a voice in his head yelled, _keep moving, keep moving!_ But she was already descending the stairs with that extremely large revolver in her hands, aimed right at him. He'd looked from the gun to her ice-cold stare, and back to the gun.

 _She_ smiled down at him, a cold look that sent chills through his body. "It's old, but it still works, and I'm not afraid to use it again," she told him.

 _She won't shoot me. She needs me alive to get her 'answers.'_ With that thought running through his head, Jamie scrambled to his hands and knees, then tried to push off for another sprint to the first floor. Unexpectedly, white-hot pain spiraled from his ankle up his left leg and he fell back to the floor. At the same time, an incredibly loud gunshot split the air, followed by the sharp crack of splintering wood as the bullet slammed into the wall behind him. A burst of panic flared through his mind, his limbs refused to respond to the little part of his brain that was still screaming at him to _run, run, run!_ , and he knew his escape attempt was a complete failure...

-BB-BB-BB-

"Oh, God," Jamie gasped again. He gripped his head tighter against the sudden headache.

Frank and Danny looked up from the documents they were reviewing. "Jamie?" Frank asked.

Jamie opened his mouth to say something, and felt his stomach turn. He stood up and ran for the private bathroom attached to the office. A few seconds later, the unmistakable sound of retching carried out of the room.

Danny looked at the file his brother had been perusing. "Autopsy summary report. Not even any pictures."

Frank headed for the bathroom. He found Jamie kneeling in front of the commode, choking and gasping for breath. "Son?" he asked, squatting down beside him.

"She did it." Jamie rasped. "She killed her son."

"Who? Marjorie Thornsberg?" Danny handed his brother a glass of water. "How do you know?"

Jamie rinsed out his mouth, then sat back against the bathroom wall. He ran his hands through his hair. "It's the same gun. I didn't remember. I would've told you. I just didn't remember," he babbled, even as the memories continued to swirl through his brain.

-BB-BB-BB-

"God, help me; God, help me," Jamie whimpered as _she_ continued to walk down the stairs, the gun still aimed at him where he lay curled up and trembling on the floor.

She stepped over his body and turned to stare down at him. "Get on your feet," she demanded.

Jamie slowly rolled onto his hands and knees, then carefully stood up, keeping his weight on his right leg as much as he could. He looked from the gun up to her face, just in time to see a blur of motion out of the corner of his right eye. Her hand smacked into his face, the stinging slap forceful enough to knock him off balance and onto his left foot. Pain raced up his leg again and he fell back down to the floor.

"You stupid boy! Stupid little brat! I ought to kill you right now!" she yelled down at him.

"Please, don't," Jamie whimpered between panicked gasps for breaths. _You failed. Your great escape plan failed, and now you're going to pay for your ineptitude._ "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please don't shoot me."

She stood there silently, glaring down at him. "Get up," she demanded.

He tried to follow her command, but stopped when moving his left leg set off another wave of pain. "I can't," he moaned. "My ankle…"

"I don't care. Get up!" she yelled again. Her finger moved toward the trigger of the revolver.

Jamie forced himself to comply as he thought about what a bullet from a gun of that caliber would do to his body. A hurt ankle suddenly seemed minor by comparison. He warily used the banister to pull himself back to his feet once again.

"Back upstairs," she ordered, gesturing with the gun.

Jamie tentatively tried putting weight on his left ankle, but quickly shifted back to his right leg. It hurt too much. He was going to have to hop up one step at a time, all the way up those stairs. He made it just over halfway up when he had to stop to rest. The exertion of hopping up each stair and the terror still swirling around in his head were making it hard to breathe.

"Stupid little brat! Keep going!" Another gunshot rang out behind him.

Jamie yelped and bolted up the next few steps in a panic, until the terrible pain in his ankle brought him crashing down onto the stairs. He choked back a sob even as tears of pain, terror and humiliation leaked out of his eyes. His ankle was radiating waves of pain, the entire right side of his face throbbed hotly from that slap and most everything else hurt from impacting the stair treads. He was going to die. She was going to kill him, right here on this staircase.

"Move it, stupid boy!"

He forced back another sob and swiped at the tears. He began crawling up the rest of the stairs, finally reaching the top where he used the railing to pull himself back upright. With her following close behind him with that gun, he slowly, painfully limped across the third floor to the attic entrance. These stairs were easier to handle, since they were narrow enough he could brace himself against both walls with his arms and take some weight off his injured leg. Even so, each step back to the attic was an agonizing reminder of his failure to free himself from the situation. And waiting for him at the top of the stairs was the door to that room. His prison cell. "No. Please, let me go. Let me go home," he begged.

In response, _she_ pushed the barrel of the gun into his back and forced him forward, then roughly shoved him through the doorway.

Jamie stumbled into the room and collapsed to the floor as his weight again landed on his injured leg. He heard her slamming the door shut behind him, heard the locks sliding into place, leaving him alone and hurting. And afraid. She was going to kill him. There was no way she could let him go. He couldn't stop the sobs this time. "Daddy, help me. Please, help me. I wanna go home."

-BB-BB-BB-

"Jamie? Son?" As Jamie's breathing fell out of kilter into gasping moans, Frank gently cradled his son's face between his hands. "Open your eyes, Jamie. You're safe with us," he encouraged.

At the sound of his father's voice, Jamie tried to pull himself free of the memories. He focused on the feeling of his father's hands resting against his face and the safety that touch represented. _You're safe_ … He pulled in a deep breath and forced open eyes he hadn't realized he'd closed to see his father's concerned face in front of him. "Dad?"

Frank moved his hands down to his son's shoulders. "It's okay. You're safe with us."

Jamie nodded while he tried to slow his breathing back to normal.

"Jamie, what would you have told us?" Frank asked. He glanced up at Danny, who had pulled a voice recorder out of his pants pocket. Maybe they were finally going to find out just what had happened all those years ago. And Danny, always the detective, was standing ready to record whatever Jamie was ready to tell them.

"I tried to escape." Jamie started to say, but stopped and clutched his stomach, fighting down another wave of nausea.

"Relax. You're safe with us now," Frank told his son, massaging his shoulder to help calm him down. "Son, tell us what happened."

Jamie took several deep breaths. "I tried to escape. I told you about the first time; the day after she grabbed me, when I tried to run out the door and she Tasered me." Jamie's hand went to his right side. "I didn't even make it out of the room that time. But this was later on, the day of the snowstorm. Saturday. It was so cold in the attic, I just wanted to get out, get home. She'd been bringing me a sandwich and a soda every afternoon. She'd open the door, and have a newspaper in one hand and the Taser in the other. She'd throw the paper to me, and I'd sign it and give it back, and then she'd toss a bag of food from some deli in to me. So, that day, when I heard her on the stairs, I took the pillow from the bed and hid beside the door. When she unlocked it, I kicked the door open and then swung the pillow at her as hard as I could. She dropped the Taser…"

"Keep going, Jamie," Frank encouraged when Jamie's voice trailed off.

Jamie cradled his head in his hands as his mind sorted through the memories. "Only it wasn't the Taser. She had a gun instead, and no newspaper or deli bag. Oh, God, I attacked a woman carrying a gun with a _pillow_. Oh, God." Jamie leaned forward, resting his head on his knees, trying to contain the hysterical laughter that was threatening to escape. "I brought a _pillow_ to a gun fight. God, how stupid was I?"

"Not at all, Jamie," Frank reassured his son. "Given what you knew, your escape plan sounds like it was solid. What happened after you disarmed her?"

Jamie sat back up against the wall. "I hit her with the pillow again and ran out of the room and down the stairs. I made it down the attic stairs and halfway down the stairs from the top floor when I tripped. Fell the rest of the way." Jamie reached down toward his left ankle, unconsciously rubbing the old injury.

"This is when you broke your ankle?" Danny interrupted.

Jamie nodded. "When I tripped on the stairs, yeah. After I fell, it took a few seconds to get my wits back, and by then, she was standing at the top of the stairway aiming this huge revolver down at me. Just standing there, looking down with this icy stare, and then she told me, 'It's old but it still works, and I'm not afraid to use it again.' Those were her exact words. But I tried to run anyway. Tried to stand up, but my ankle wouldn't support me, and I fell back down to the floor. And that's when she actually took a shot at me. If I'd succeeded in standing up..." Jamie's voice trailed off.

"My god," Frank whispered as he realized how close they'd come to losing Jamie. Behind him, he heard Danny cursing.

"After that, I guess I just panicked. Just gave up. I couldn't move, couldn't do anything other than lay there on the floor shaking like a stupid coward until she ordered me to stand up, slapped me across the face and then forced me back up the stairs to the attic. I knew my leg was messed up, and I knew I shouldn't be walking on it, but she was going to kill me if I didn't cooperate."

"You weren't stupid, Jamie, and you weren't a coward," Frank reassured his son even as he seethed with anger at Marjorie Thornsberg. _She caused my son to fall down a flight of stairs, shot at him, slapped him, forced him to walk on a broken ankle, terrorized him, and because he couldn't remember what happened, we made a deal with her when we should of sent her away for life_. But that anger wouldn't help Jamie now. "You were a fifteen year old boy, injured, facing a hostile armed woman with no way to defend yourself. Fear is a normal response to that situation. It probably kept you alive; kept you from pushing her too far."

"Jamie, give yourself a break. You tried to escape, even if it didn't work out in the end. That's not cowardly," Danny added. "That's pretty darn gutsy."

"Yeah," Jamie agreed quietly. "But after that, I couldn't walk on my ankle. Couldn't even stand on it. I just had to hope that you were out there looking for me."

"We were. Every day, every night." Danny cut in. He squeezed around his father to squat down beside his Jamie and wrap an arm around his back. "You done puking?"

Jamie nodded. "Yeah. Think so."

"Good. Then let's continue this discussion somewhere less toilet-y." He and Frank helped Jamie to shaky feet and led him out of the room. "So, kid, now that we've knocked those memories loose, what makes you think Marjorie Thornsberg killed her son?"

"That gun," Jamie explained again. "According to that autopsy report, it's the same kind of gun her son was shot with."

"The gun she told you she had used before." Frank added.

Jamie nodded. "I know it's not definitive proof, but it's the same gun. As old as that gun looked, it can't be that common..."

"Hold on, Jamie, if she killed her son, why abduct you to force Dad to find the murderer?" Danny asked. "She would've already known who did it. Because she did it herself."

"Then maybe she wasn't looking for Dad to find the murderer," Jamie snapped back.

Jamie's words echoed in Franks's mind and a few of the puzzle pieces clicked into place. The only question they'd asked fifteen years ago was whether Parker Carrington's death resulted from suicide or homicide; if the evidence supported the detectives' initial finding of suicide. When the evidence came down on the side of suicide, they hadn't looked beyond that to the why of that act. And maybe 'why' was the question Marjorie Thornsberg had really been asking. Was still asking. "Son, you may be right."


	16. Chapter 15 - New Theories

**CHAPTER 15 - NEW THEORIES**

OCTOBER 13, 2012, SATURDAY - 1PP

 _Jamie's words echoed in Franks's mind and a few of the puzzle pieces clicked into place. The only question they'd asked fifteen years ago was whether Parker Carrington's death resulted from suicide or homicide; if the evidence supported the detectives' initial finding of suicide. When the evidence came down on the side of suicide, they hadn't looked beyond that to the why of that act. And maybe 'why' was the question Marjorie Thornsberg had really been asking. Was still asking. "Son, you may be right."_

"Huh?" Jamie looked up at him.

Frank led Jamie to one of the soft chairs in front of his desk. He walked around to the other side of the desk and pulled a file out of the drawer. He opened the file and removed a piece of paper. "Marjorie Thornsberg's first communication after the kidnapping: 'I want justice for my son. I have taken your son and will give him back to you once you have found those who took my son from me'," he read from the document. He flipped forward a page and read from another paper. "'You know who took your son from you. Find those who took mine from me.' Her second note, delivered two days after the kidnapping." He pulled out one more paper. "I don't think you are taking me seriously. Find those whose actions resulted in my son's death, or…" Frank abruptly stopped reading the note aloud. He'd never told his family about the last part of that note; about any of the notes other than the original one.

"Or?" Danny prompted.

Frank put the note down with a sigh. "Or you'll be dealing with your own son's death," he concluded reading the note. "That one arrived the morning of that last day; the day we rescued Jamie," he told his startled sons.

"Dad, you never told us she threatened Jamie's life!" Danny exclaimed. Jamie winced at Danny's words, but otherwise seemed too emotionally spent to react.

"You and Joe were already doing everything you could to help Detective Halsey find Jamie. Telling you wouldn't have helped. And besides, you rescued Jamie before it became necessary." Frank said definitively, cutting off any further protest from Danny.

It _wouldn't_ have helped, he argued to himself again. Joe had already been blaming himself for Jamie's abduction; seeing that additional threat would only have pushed him over the edge from guilt into despair. And Danny, already angry at the situation, wouldn't have been able to control his rage. Besides, he couldn't have inflicted the terror that note had caused him on his sons.

Until it arrived, he hadn't realized how much Marjorie Thornsberg's notes and the documents she was sending as proof of life were keeping his hope for Jamie's safe return alive. Her first note with the photographs, the one that had arrived the day after Jamie had been taken, had abated a small bit of the fear he had been feeling since the previous evening. Seeing proof that his that his baby boy was alive and was likely to stay that way for at least a few days gave him hope that they could get Jamie back unharmed. Her second note, delivered on Thursday, two days after the kidnapping, had included a deli receipt and the front page of Wednesday's _Times_ , signed "Jamie Reagan" in blue crayon, and gave him more hope for his son. Jamie was alive, he was mentally holding himself together enough that he had been able to sign his name on her proof of life, and he was being fed. That gave them the time they needed to find where he was. Friday's note included the _Post_ 's Thursday front page, covered with Jamie's full signature, Jameson Henry Reagan, in green crayon; and on Saturday, it was the _Post_ again, from Friday, this time signed "Jamie Henri Reagani" in orange. It was a small thing, but the irreverent variation in the signature reassured him that his son was not only alive but was surviving the kidnapping; that he'd be okay just one more day until they found him.

But then the next day, Sunday, there hadn't been a note. Jamie's recovered memories finally gave him a clue as to why. She'd become impatient, likely as a result of that damn press conference and how he'd evaded questions that could have given her answers, if he'd had any to give her. She'd obviously felt the need to increase the pressure on him by threatening Jamie with that gun. Probably had intended to take some pictures of that, to send with the note. Except Jamie's escape attempt had interfered with her plans, and she hadn't sent any note. That silence was worse than any note she could have sent, Frank had thought then, until her last two notes arrived that Monday morning.

First thing Monday morning, _that_ note had been delivered. It had no food receipt; no newspaper page covered with a crayoned signature. What it did have was an implicit threat, 'find those whose actions resulted in my son's death, or you'll be dealing with your own son's death,' and a large piece of the hope he'd been holding out for Jamie's safety had evaporated.

And then there was her last note. The one he had vowed to never tell his sons about. The one that had arrived several hours later that Monday morning, at 10:27AM, and stripped away the hope he had left. "You're out of time. Give me answers on today's six o'clock evening news, or tomorrow, I'll tell you where to find your son's body." He'd immediately looked at his watch, calculating how much time Jamie had left; how much time until their world was ripped apart. _Seven hours, thirty-two minutes, ten seconds._ His son's life expectancy had suddenly been reduced to a matter of hours.

Frank turned to the last note in the file. The note he'd written to himself. _Remember that Joe and Danny saved Jamie before that time ran down._ He closed the file and pulled his attention back to the present, where Jamie was alive and well and sitting right in front of him.

Danny stopped his pacing across the room and ran his hands over his face. "That note. '…you'll be dealing with your own son's death.' That's why you called the family meeting for that afternoon. If Halsey and I hadn't found Jamie…"

Frank glanced at Jamie, who was silently staring at the floor, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps, then turned his gaze to Danny. "If you hadn't found Jamie, I had to start preparing the family for the fact that we might not find him. We were out of leads and Ms. Thornsberg had begun making threats against him. The family needed to know."

Danny walked over to stand behind Jamie and reached down to grip his brother's shoulders. "But we did find Jamie. Found him and locked up that criminal before she could carry out her threat. Right, kid?" he asked, trying to shake his brother out of his reverie.

Jamie sucked in a deep breath. "Right…"

"And I thank God every day for that," Frank said.

"Dad, what was I right about?" Jamie attempted to steer the conversation back on topic.

"Think about what she says each time," Frank told his sons. "She'll give you back once we find those who took her son from her. She wants us to find those whose actions resulted in her son's death. And a few days ago, she told me we haven't found those responsible for her son's death.'" Frank took off his glasses and looked over at his sons. "She's not looking for us to find out who actually pulled the trigger."

"She's looking for the big picture. For an explanation of how things got to the point where she felt the need to kill her son," Jamie realized.

"Or for why her son killed himself," Danny argued, not ready to jump on board Jamie's theory just yet.

"Either way, she's looking for answers. She wants the people who created the circumstances that led to her son's death to face justice," Frank concluded.

"Parker Carrington was low-level drug dealer – and a high-level drug user – at his prep school, until the administration found out and booted his ass out of there," Danny recalled from the file they had been reviewing earlier. "Maybe that was the cause? Drug deal gone bad?"

"You think _she_ was dealing?" Jamie asked sarcastically."She killed her son because he cheated her on a sale?"

"No, numbskull. _He_ killed _himself_ over a drug deal gone bad," Danny explained his theory.

"If drugs were the the cause, it could go back even further. Someone turned Parker on to using. Someone got him involved in dealing," Frank stated. "Those people's actions ultimately resulted in her son's death. Those could be the people she wants us to bring to justice."

"She wants us to track down a bunch of low-level users and dealers? That would have been a tough job back then. It will be nearly impossible now." Jamie slumped down in the chair. "I'd better get used to looking over my shoulder."

"Maybe it's drugs. Maybe it's something else," Frank mused. "Danny, I'll call your sergeant. I want to officially reopen the investigating into Parker Carrington's death. Maybe there's something that will prove one of our theories."


	17. Chapter 16 - Two Sundays: Sunday 1998

**CHAPTER 16 – TWO SUNDAYS: SUNDAY 1998**

SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 8, 1998

Mary Reagan knelt in front of the pew of St. Patrick's small chapel. She'd felt the need to go to church, but once they had arrived at St. Pat's, she found she couldn't face the full parish in the main sanctuary.

"Mary? Can I be of assistance?"

Mary turned around to see Father Bernard standing beside her. The elderly priest had retired from conducting regular services, but still served where he could. "Father, I'm sure you know about Jamie," she managed to choke out before the tears started again.

"Yes. We've been praying for him since we heard of the abduction. We've kept Saint Anthony of Padua quite busy this week."

"Saint Anthony?" Mary asked. "The family certainly sent enough prayers his way for all the items we thought were lost, back when Jamie used to swallow any metal object." Mary choked back another sob. Her earrings, Erin's locket, Danny's coins, Joe's Boy Scout pins, Frank's liquor cabinet key. Jamie had certainly been responsible for quite a list of lost objects, so much so that Danny had accused his baby brother of being in league with "Saint Anthony of Poo-poo-a" to drum of new business for the church. But now Jamie was the lost object…

"Yes, in addition to being the saint of lost items, he's also the saint of missing children. Would you like me to pray with you?" Father Bernard asked.

"Please, Father. I can't seem to find any words."

"God hears the prayers of your heart." Father Bernard knelt down beside her. "Daniel, would you like to join us?"

Danny left his position standing guard outside the chapel doorway. "Yes, Father." He knelt down at the end of the pew, angled so he could keep an eye on the entrance. Nobody was going to hurt another member of his family if he could prevent it.

"Pray with me. Saint Anthony, perfect imitator of Jesus, who received from God the special power of restoring lost things," he began, reciting the words that had become so familiar to the Reagan family.

SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 8, 1998 – MARJORIE THORNSBERG'S MANSION

Lying flat on his back on the small bed, Jamie raised his arm and looked at his watch. He tried to picture where his family would be right now this Sunday morning. Mass would still be going on. Mom and Dad would definitely be there, and Joe, who never missed a service unless he was on tour, and probably Erin, unless little baby Nicki had kept her awake all night, and Grandpa Henry and Grandma Betty. Maybe Danny also, although he was good at finding excuses to avoid attending. "Can't make it. Got to find my baby brother." That's probably the one he used today. The Father would be finishing up his message sometime around now. He was almost sure there would have been extra prayers, extra candles, all the extra rites the Church had established for when a parishioner was in trouble. He wondered who the saint was for kidnapped teenagers.

Thinking of his family reminded him of the newspaper Crazy Lady had flung in the door yesterday evening along with the sandwich and soda. The food had been late; every other day, she'd brought it around lunchtime. And for once, she hadn't ordered him to sign across the top of the newspaper and ripped the front page off to take away with her. The change in routine was unsettling, as was the fury he detected in her actions. Why had she been angry with him? He'd done something yesterday… or he hadn't done something… and at some point, he'd fallen down a staircase and busted his ankle. It was just _yesterday_ ; why couldn't he remember? He was losing his mind. Just a few days alone locked in an attic and he was completely losing his mind. He almost giggled. Maybe he should say a prayer to Saint Anthony to help him find it.

God, he couldn't crack up yet. He had to keep himself together just a little while longer, until Dad, Danny and Joe could find him. He knew they were looking; that much had been implied by the quote from his father in the _Post_ from yesterday. Needing to see that article one more time, he reached under the pillow where he'd stashed the newspaper last night. It wasn't there! He must have knocked it onto the floor sometime during the night. He rolled onto his right side, careful to brace his damaged left ankle against his right leg. Still, the movement sent stabbing pain through his entire leg and he moaned in pain. To his embarrassment, hot tears seeped out of his tightly closed eyes. The constant pain, flaring every time he moved, throbbing in time with his heartbeat even if he lay still, was wearing him down. It had kept him awake all night, leaving him physically and mentally exhausted this morning. If only he hadn't fallen down the stairs yesterday... And what had he been doing on the stairs in the first place?

He spotted the newspaper lying on the floor and grabbed it up. He re-read the headline one more time, drawing some comfort from the words. "We Will Bring You Home," it stated in large letters beneath a picture from a press conference of his father, grimly answering some question with Joe (looking bruised but alive, thank God) and Danny (looking angry) standing to his left and the dweeb who had replaced Grandpa Henry as Commissioner on his right. The image blurred as more tears leaked out of his eyes. "Dad, please hurry," he whimpered. He opened the newspaper to the article and skimmed through it again, looking for the one paragraph he'd read over and over again the evening before, until the sunlight faded and it became too dark to read. "Chief Reagan remained tight-lipped about any possible ransom demand, but he did have words for one person: his son. 'Jamie, stay strong. We will bring you home.'" Jamie swallowed down a sob as he rolled up the paper and held it to his chest. "They're coming. Stay strong," he whispered to himself. It would be so much easier to do that if his ankle didn't scream in pain at the slightest movement. If only he had some way to splint it…

Inspiration suddenly struck. The newspaper! Folded up, it was probably stiff enough to immobilize his ankle. And his belt should work to hold it in place. He sat up, allowing himself to scream every curse word he knew as that movement sent pain ripping through his ankle again. Once the pain had subsided a little, he carefully placed the newspaper underneath his foot and folded it up both sides of his ankle, arranging it so he could still see bits of the headline, then wrapped his belt under his foot, crisscrossed it across the front of his ankle and tied it snugly behind his leg. He experimentally moved his leg. It still throbbed, but the pain didn't flare up nearly as bad. Maybe now he could get some rest. He laid back on the bed, trying to force himself to sleep. But now that the pain in his ankle wasn't so bad, the hungries were coming back. He reached under the bed for yesterday's soda bottle and chugged down the last bit of soda that he'd saved for this morning. He wondered what was on today's lunch menu.

SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 8, 1998 – REAGAN HOME, BAY RIDGE

"Dad, what's this?" Danny voiced the question everyone in the family was wondering as he looked at the sub sandwich on his plate and the plastic bottle of soda standing in place of his usual beer bottle. Sunday dinner usually involved a lot more food. "Turkey? On white bread?"

Frank looked around the room at his wife, parents, children and baby granddaughter. And at the empty chair where Jamie should be sitting. "At your mother's request, today, we are eating what Jamie has been eating this week," Frank stated.

Joe poked at the sandwich on his plate, which appeared to be ham and Swiss. He looked up at his father. "Dad, how do you know that?"

Frank sighed. "Marjorie Thornsberg's proof of life. The signed newspaper clips and the deli receipts. Of course, she carefully removes any identifying information first." Frank tried not to think about the fact that _she_ hadn't sent anything this morning.

Danny looked at the six-inch sub. "That's all she's feeding Jamie? That's not enough! The way he's been eating you out of house and home, he's gotta be starving."

"Danny," Frank warned. "He's alive, and he's being fed each day. For that we should be thankful. Maybe you'd like to give the blessing today?"

When Danny failed to reply, Joe jumped in. "Dad, let me do it." Joe quickly began an eloquent prayer of thankfulness for the food they and Jamie were receiving, and a request to protect his little brother from further harm.

After Joe concluded his prayer, the family began silently eating their sandwiches. Henry glanced around the unusually quiet table. "So, what did you think about the homily today?" he asked, in an attempt to get any conversation going. "God's Many Aliases."

"Grandpop," Erin protested. "That wasn't the title of the Father's message. It was about the different names God uses for himself in the Bible, and what each one means."

"Aliases. Like I said."

"Except God isn't a criminal," Joe argued.

"Neither are you, and think of all the different names you use. Mary, what do you call your son?"

"Joseph. Or Joe."

"Depending on how much trouble he's in," Danny joked. "Sometimes, she even used the full Joseph Conor Reagan."

"Not as often as she used Daniel Fitzgerald Reagan," Erin noted.

"That's three, just from your parents, Joe. And at work?"

"Officer Regan, from the public, and just Reagan from everyone else," Joe replied.

"And to your siblings, you're Joey."

"Only to Jamie," Joe stated.

Henry frowned. That conversation had come right around to the subject they were trying to avoid – Jamie's absence.

Joe put his sandwich down. "Damn her. That stupid bitch."

"Joseph!" Mary quickly scolded.

"Talk about someone who's used a lot of names. Abernathy. Thornsberg. Carrington, maybe… Damn it!" Joe cursed again. He pounded his fist onto the table. "And who knows how many others. Because we didn't even think to check those records. Dad, we have to get into the records of name changes. What if she changed her name? What if she owns property under some other name? We wouldn't have found it. We wouldn't find Jamie. Why didn't we think of that?"

Frank stood up from the table and motioned for Joe to join him. "Son, let's go. I'll make a few calls and get you to those records." He rested a hand on Joe's shoulder. "You'll find him."

* * *

A/N: To any Catholic readers, I apologies for any errors regarding Catholic religious practices. I'm mixed Protestant, so most of what I know about Catholic practices comes from the Internet, TV and the two Catholic services I've attended - a funeral and a day of Vacation Bible School. :)


	18. Chapter 17 – Two Sundays: Sunday 2012

**CHAPTER 17 – TWO SUNDAYS: SUNDAY 2012**

SUNDAY, OCTOBER 14, 2012

"… and protect us from food poisoning," Danny added to the end of the blessing his father had just concluded.

"Danny, why do you think you're going to get food poisoning today? Just because I cooked the pork roast for dinner today?" Jamie asked.

"Well, it's not like you have a lot of experience as head chef. It's a possibility we can't ignore," Danny teased. "And I saw what happened when you were carving it. Has anybody thought to ask why Jamie has a boo-boo strip on his finger?"

Jamie curled the bandaged digit into his palm and out of sight. "I cleaned that up. The roast is fine."

"Just think of it as enriched with extra iron," Henry cut it.

"Ew, Grandpop!" Nicki exclaimed.

"What?" Sean looked at his older cousin in confusion.

"Sean, because Uncle Jamie cut his finger while carving the roast and blood has a lot of iron in it," Nicki explained.

"Gross," Jack added gleefully. Sean just made a disgusted face.

"Guys, there is no 'extra iron' in the roast. I cleaned it up," Jamie tried to explain again.

"Just in case, if anyone starts to feel ill, I have poison control on speed dial." Danny added.

"Danny, your brother did a fine job with the cooking. I think it's admirable that he's improving his culinary skills," Linda cut in.

"That's right," Erin added. "Knowing how to cook is a great way to impress a woman."

"Yes, but it's hard to impress a woman if you don't have a woman in your life to impress," Danny teased.

"And who says I don't?" Jamie shot back.

"Oh-ho, Jamie's got a secret girlfriend. Tell us her name," Danny demanded.

Jamie drew his fingers across his lips in the classic "lips are zipped" gesture. "Dad, please pass the potatoes," he added, hoping to change the subject.

"Wait, you're not going to tell? I want details on your new romance!" Nicki protested.

Jamie sighed. "She's just a _friend_ right now. A girl I know from school. We've gone out on a few casual dates. If anything changes, I'm sure Detective Danny will be the first to know."

"'A girl from school'," Danny teased. "Kid, with you, that doesn't narrow it down a whole lot. You spent twenty-plus years of your life in school."

"Danny does make a good point," Frank noted.

"Wait a minute. The last time you said that, you were talking about Katie Dolan," Danny recalled. "It's Katie, isn't it?"

"No, it's not Katie. Last I heard, she's living in Seattle. With her husband." Jamie shoveled a large bite of potatoes into his mouth, effectively cutting off his end of the conversation. By the time he'd finished, the topic of conversation had changed to a case Erin had been assigned, and other topics not related to him. It was a nice break from the constant worry about the kidnapping. At least until after dinner, when Linda sent Jack and Sean to the family room to nap.

Henry looked at Danny. "What's wrong with your boys today? They sick?"

Danny pointed at Jamie. "Ask him."

"Jamie, what did you do to Danny's boys?" Henry asked.

"Nothing. Nothing bad. We spent some time early this morning playing with the _baby monitor_ Danny hid under my bed. That's all."

"The baby monitor?" Frank asked.

"Yeah, Dad. 'Big Brother' hid a baby monitor under my bed."

"First of all, kid, it's Sean's bed. You're just occupying it for a few days," Danny argued. "And I had to keep an eye – or an ear – on you somehow. I thought you'd prefer the baby monitor over Joe's solution of setting up a cot blocking your bedroom door and sleeping in the room with you. I know I'd prefer to sleep in the same room as my wife."

"And I like sleeping in my nice, wide bed in my apartment. But I can't right now, which is why I fell out of Sean's bed last night and cracked my skull on the nightstand." Jamie pointed to a slight bruise at his hairline. "That thing has hard edges, by the way. You might want to pad it."

"We would, if our son was as clumsy as you," Danny teased. "He's slept in that bed for years and hasn't hurt himself once on that table."

"Anyway, I was lying on the floor, and I see this little red light shining under the bed. It was the power light on a baby monitor. And just then, Danny comes rushing into the room, claiming he was up checking on his boys and heard something from my room. Kind of put the facts together at that point." Jamie swigged his beer. "'Big Brother' was spying on me."

"I wasn't spying. I was… monitoring you."

"Spying."

"Monitoring."

"It's illegal wiretapping."

"No it's not. It's just monitoring what's going on in your own house. Completely legal," Danny argued back. "Erin, tell Harvard it's not illegal to set up a baby monitor in your own house," he added.

"Erin, tell Danny it is illegal if you're using it to spy on your adult brother," Jamie put in.

Erin looked from one brother to the other. "Leave me out of this."

"Hey, kid, I was just trying to keep you safe. I didn't hear you complaining the other nights, when I stopped you from sleepwalking."

"'Those who would give up essential liberty to purchase a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety,'" Jamie quoted Benjamin Franklin.

"Those who would sleepwalk out of a house and into traffic don't get a choice." Danny retorted.

"I still haven't heard how this affected my grandchildren." Frank commented.

"Oh, that's the best part. A few hours later, somewhere around three A.M. this morning, Mr. Contributing-to-the-Delinquency-of-a-Minor gets my boys out of bed and has them pull out all their toys. Do you have any idea how much fun it is to be woken up in the wee hours by that Disney astronaut yelling "Infinity or Bust" in your ear?" Danny griped.

"To Infinity… and Beyond." Jamie corrected, earning himself a glare from his older brother.

"Followed by that podunk sheriff yelling about someone poisoning the well."

" _Toy Story_ talking storybook," Jamie explained.

"And that wasn't the first interruption of my sleep. First it was this bizarre laughing sound."

"The Tickle Me Elmo that Grandpa gave Sean a few years ago." Jamie tried not to smile.

"I went to check on Jamie, but it looked like he was sound asleep. So I go back to bed, and then, ten minutes later, the police cars and fire trucks started wailing. I thought the neighborhood was burning down."

"Nope, it was just those little push-button police and fire vehicles." Jamie couldn't hold back a snicker. "Really, Danny, you shouldn't buy your kids so many noisy toys."

"Hey, _you_ bought some of those. And then, ten minutes later, it's the quotable Toy Story broadcast. Except that time, I heard my boys trying not to laugh in the background.

"Third time's the charm." Jamie started laughing. "They were there the whole time. And after all the effort I put in to it, you must have entirely missed my second verse of _Tinkle, Tinkle Little Star_."

Erin gasped and covered her mouth. "He remembers that?" she asked Danny.

Danny nodded. "He does." He turned to Jamie. "Let's hear it, kid."

"Danny, I'm not a singer, and it's not appropriate for mixed audiences."

"C'mon. Now I'm curious. Pop can accompany you on the piano, and Erin and I will do the first verse with you."

"Fine. It's a good thing Nicki and Linda are in the kitchen cleaning up tonight," Jamie grumbled.

Henry moved to the piano bench. "I don't believe I know this song, but does it go to the tune of _Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star_?"

"Yup." Danny stood up and pulled his siblings over to the piano. "Hit it, Gramps."

As Henry played the simple tune, Danny and Erin sang their version of the lyrics. " _Tinkle, tinkle, little star. Raindrops, that's just what they are. Drops of pee fall from the sky, tryin' to hit you in the eye. Tinkle, tinkle, little star. Raindrops that's just what they are."_ Danny elbowed Jamie. "You're on," he whispered.

Jamie grimaced, then began singing quietly. " _Shining bright, covered in pits, the moon lets loose with hailstone shits. You think they're little balls of ice. But they're nothing near so nice. Shining bright, covered in pits, the moon…"_

"Okay, Jamie, I think that's enough." Frank interrupted, trying to hide his amusement.

Henry finished the tune with a flourish. "Jameson. Such language. And on a Sunday," Henry teased his grandson.

Erin buried her face in her hands, trying to control her laughter. "Danny, you know what our problem was? We tried to keep it clean, and no good words rhymed with 'poop' or 'crap.'"

Danny tried not to laugh. "I hope my boys weren't around for that part of things," he said. "Because Linda has a strict 'no swearing' rule.

"Nope. They were still in bed. And I already apologized to Linda for the language," Jamie defended himself. " _She_ thought it was funny. But why do you think I ended up cooking today?"

"Because I have a smart wife," Danny conceded. "If she's forgiven you, I guess I will. But no more playing tonight. They boys have school tomorrow."

"Okay." Jamie yawned. "I think I'll go join them for a nap. I was up odd hours last night." He headed for the family room.

"Whose fault is that, baby brother?" Danny called after him.

-BB-BB-BB-

An hour later, Frank headed for the kitchen with some of the used glassware. On the way back, he paused to look in the family room and check on his son and grandsons. Sean and Jack were sharing one couch, their heads at opposite ends, their feet overlapping in the center. Jamie was stretched out on the loveseat, his legs draped over the armrest of the shorter sofa. Frank walked over to his chair and sat down, watching his son sleep. _Just like in the hospital fifteen years ago._

FEBRUARY 9, 1998, MONDAY – ST. MICHAEL'S HOSPITAL

As soon as Detective Halsey finished updating him on what they knew of Jamie's condition – mostly good news, except for the leg injury – Frank and Mary, Joe and Erin followed the nurse to Jamie's room in St. Michael's ER. Nurse Linda had kept them back just long enough for Danny to wake his sleeping brother. Frank didn't even remember crossing the room. One second he was at the door, watching Jamie confusedly blink at them as he woke up; the next he was at Jamie's bedside, holding his son – safe, alive – and his wife tightly in his arms.

All too soon, the nurse had returned to take Jamie off to x-ray. He'd stayed behind to update Danny on what they knew, and by the time Danny and he had arrived at the Radiology waiting room, the orthopedic surgeon was already there, discussing with Mary the need to whisk Jamie off to surgery immediately. Erin had been standing by her mother's side; Joe, he assumed, was with Jamie. _Bones already not healing correctly_ , the doctor was saying. _Possible tears to the ligaments and tendons. Act as soon as possible to avoid any permanent impairment_. Frank had authorized the surgery without hesitation. He'd had a few all-too-brief minutes with Jamie on the walk to the surgical suites, spent trying to convince his son that, yes, surgery was very much necessary, and that they would take him home as soon as possible afterwards. He stayed by Jamie's side while the anesthesiologist got the drugs started, but as soon as he knew his son was unconscious, he'd had to step outside. Seeing Jamie lying so unnaturally still brought to mind unwelcome images of what could have been if Marjorie Thornsberg had been given the opportunity to act on her threat.

It was several hours before he saw his son again. He'd sent Joe to sit by Jamie in the recovery room, using the excuse that he needed to stay available for the detectives. Then, right at 6:15 PM, the time he'd expected to be on the evening news pleading for his son's life, they had moved Jamie from recovery to a private room.

Frank had joined his wife at the side of Jamie's bed as soon as they got him settled. Frank looked down at his youngest son. Jamie lay in the bed, pale, quiet, but _alive_.

Joe stood at Jamie's other side, resting one hand lightly on his brother's arm. "The doctor says Jamie's out of the anesthesia and he's just sleeping. They said to let him rest, as much as he can between their checking on his vitals every few hours."

Mary reached down to gently brush a lock of Jamie's hair off his forehead.

Jamie's eyes opened slightly at the touch. "Mommy? Dad?" he mumbled.

"Yes, Sweetie, we're right here," Mary said, stroking Jamie's forehead again. "And Joe's on your other side, and Erin and Danny will be back soon."

Jamie opened and closed his mouth a few times. "'m thirsty."

Joe picked up the foam cup of water and held the straw to his brother's lips. "The doctor said small sips at first, okay, kiddo?"

Jamie grabbed the cup from Joe's hands and sucked down the water. "Wanna go home," he said, once his mouth wasn't so dry.

"Sweetie, you'll be able to go home tomorrow. Just rest for right now," Mary instructed.

"I wanna go home," Jamie repeated. "Please." His voice nearly broke on that last word.

Frank felt his heart tighten at Jamie's plea for the one thing they couldn't give him. He picked up his son's hand, holding it tightly between his. "Jamie, we'll take you home as soon as we can. Until then, you won't be alone. One of us will be by your side constantly."

Jamie nodded, fighting back the tears that were threatening to fall.

Mary leaned forward to plant a soft kiss on Jamie's temple. "Go back to sleep, Sweetie. I know you're tired." She gently stroked his forehead until his eyes closed again. Frank knew she was also wiping away tears Jamie wouldn't want them to see.

"Mom, Dad," Joe said quietly. "If we can't take him home, why don't we bring home to him? Bring him his pillow and blanket, and some real pajamas, and that mac'n'cheese Grandma is making for his welcome home dinner? I could call Danny and get him to stop by the house…"

Mary looked up. "Joey, that's a great idea! Let's check with his doctor about bringing in food, then we'll call your brother. Frank, you stay here with Jamie."

As if anything that could make him leave his son's side… Frank moved closer to Jamie's bedside and leaned forward to rest one hand gently on his son's shoulder. He watched the monitors that indicated a slow, steady heartbeat; watched Jamie's chest rise and fall with each breath; felt each breath underneath his hand. He knew he was hovering; knew it wasn't like him. But he honestly hadn't expected to see Jamie alive again, and he found he needed the reassurance that his baby boy really was safe.

Even when Mary and Joe returned a few minutes later with Erin in tow, he didn't leave his position by his son's side. Mary joined him at Jamie's bedside, Joe stretched out in the room's recliner, keeping his own injured ankle elevated per doctor's orders, and Erin perched herself on the windowsill, all of them anxiously waiting for Jamie to wake up again. Danny's loud arrival an hour later accomplished that goal. He burst into the room, carrying his old Marine Corps duffle bag, the blonde nurse from the ER at his side carrying a casserole dish, both of them laughing at something. Jamie started awake, his eyes darting from his parents to Danny, and then to the dish the nurse was carrying.

"Hi, little brother," Danny greeted. "Brought you dinner. And some other stuff."

Joe quickly got to his feet. "You brought everything I asked for?"

"All of it," Danny responded. "Ma, Grandma said that dish needs to be divided up and heated. Why don't you and Erin take care of that, and Joe and I will take care of Jamie?"

"Dad, you should go too. Help them out," Joe added.

Frank looked askance at his middle son. Why did Joe think his mother and sister would need his assistance heating up a dish of macaroni and cheese? But when he saw Joe mouth 'please' and gesture toward the door, he decided to play along. Joe obviously had something up his sleeve, and after his injuries had restricted his ability to help with the search, he obviously needed to take ownership of some part of his baby brother's recovery.

He followed Mary, Erin and the nurse out of Jamie's room. While the women headed off to the floor's kitchenette, he used the opportunity to stop in the waiting room and check in with Detective Halsey. Nothing new; Marjorie Thornsberg was locked up and was going to stay that way, and they had found no evidence that she had any accomplices at the house. By the time Mary and Erin returned, he was pacing the hallway, needing to see Jamie safe and alive again. But it was worth the wait. Joe and Danny had not only got Jamie changed into the t-shirt and flannel pants he used for pajamas, they had managed to shower him first as well, and the stressed, apprehensive look on his son's face had been replaced by a genuine smile that only got bigger when Mary set the mac 'n' cheese in front of him.

When visiting hours ended and the doctor enforced the rule that only one family member could stay in the room, he'd insisted it would be him. He would never regret that decision, even though Mary had been furious with him. But she wouldn't have been strong enough to stop Jamie from escaping from the hospital bed when the nightmare hit.

He'd been dozing in the chair next to the bed where Jamie was sleeping fretfully when Jamie had suddenly cried out and bolted upright, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Frank had lunged onto the bed, just in time to get one arm around his son's arm and waist and the other around his shoulders, stopping Jamie from jumping out of bed onto his injured ankle.

Caught in the nightmare, Jamie screamed and clawed at his father's arm with his free hand, while he twisted and kicked in his effort to get away. Frank gripped Jamie tighter, then realized what he'd done. He'd grabbed Jamie in almost the exact way the kidnapper had; probably had sent Jamie's mind right back to that moment when his ordeal started. Frank pushed Jamie down onto his side on the bed and curled him into the fetal position, using his own weight to keep his son still. "You're safe, son. You're safe," he whispered in Jamie's ear until the screams tapered off to choking whimpers and the physical resistance reduced to trembling.

Keeping one arm firmly around his son, Frank slowly moved so he was sitting on the edge of the bed. "Shhh. It's okay. You're safe," he encouraged, but the heartbreaking whimpers and trembling continued. Jamie's mind had trapped him in some terrifying place he couldn't seem to wake up from. Frank lifted Jamie off the bed into a tight embrace and felt his son's arms encircle his body and grab onto the back of his sweater. He held Jamie's head to his shoulder, rocking him gently, like he done years earlier when Jamie really was his baby boy. "You're safe. You're safe, Jamie" he repeated again. After a few moments, he felt Jamie quieting in his arms.

And then Mary was there, sitting down on the other side of Jamie's bed, hugging the both of them, one arm wrapped around Jamie's back and the other hand resting on Frank's shoulder. "Did you really think I'd leave when the two of you might need me?" she reprimanded him, a small smile taking the sting out of her words. They held Jamie close between them for a while longer, until Jamie was resting limply in Frank's arms, fast asleep, then carefully laid him back in the bed.

Mary brushed Jamie's hair off his forehead again, leaving her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. "The nurses wanted to put him in restraints or sedate him," she whispered to Frank. "I had to convince them you could calm him down."

Frank nodded. "We'll keep him under control. They are not restraining or drugging our son."

Through the remainder of the night, they had remained vigilant at Jamie's side, comforting him through the nightmares with a hand on his shoulder or along the side of his face – if they acted fast enough, any touch seemed to be enough to break its grip; gently waking him when the nurses came for their checks; soothing him back to sleep when they were done. Reassuring themselves that Jamie was alive and recovering; that Marjorie Thornsberg hadn't succeeded in tearing a hole in their family.

-BB-BB-BB-

"Dad? We wondered where you got off to."

Danny's voice pulled Frank away from the memories. He joined Danny in the doorway. "Just checking on your brother."

"You're hovering. Just like you did at the hospital back then."

Frank didn't even bother to deny Danny's allegation. "She didn't intend for us to get him back alive," he commented, looking back over at Jamie's sleeping form. "He only had hours left."

Danny felt himself going cold. " _What_?"

 _'You're out of time...'_ Frank hadn't been able to stop thinking about that note since he'd read it again the previous morning. It had taken all his strength to let Jamie walk out of his office yesterday; he wanted to keep his son in sight, where he could know for certain that Jamie was safe and alive. "She'd sent a note that Monday morning. If I wasn't on the evening news with the answer she wanted…"

"Dad, no, stop," Danny interrupted. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You were busy following up that last lead that brought him home alive," Frank stated, hoping that would be enough explanation for his son.

Danny sagged against the wall. "That's the real reason you called the family meeting. Not that vague threat you told us about."

"We had no more leads, and no more time." Frank glanced back at Jamie. "You and Joe pulled off a miracle, finding where she was hiding him."

"Mostly Joe. He was the one who thought to look at the records of name changes and found where _she_ 'd changed her name to Marigold Parker. He was the one who thought to look up that name in the marriage records and found the record of 'Marigold' marrying that Wilson fellow, and he was the one who found the property record for that house under 'Marigold Wilson.' I just did his footwork."

"And once you had done Joe's footwork and found Jamie, you kept _her_ from getting to your brother, and you made a safe zone around him until we got him back home," Frank elaborated.

"Speaking of which, it's time for us to head home, so we need to wake up the boys."

"Let them sleep. You can stay over tonight," Frank offered. "There are plenty of beds for them, and Jamie can use his old room."

"And what if he has that nightmare and starts sleepwalking?"

"Danny, I am his father. I took care of him for eighteen years. I think I can manage one more night. Besides, from what you told me, he got through last night without somnambulating."

"Okay, Dad," Danny agreed. "I'll go let Linda know." He turned to head back to the kitchen.

"Danny?" Erin called. She stepped out of the kitchen, followed by Linda. "There you are."

"Here I am. In my own house. You're quite the detective," Danny teased.

Erin rolled her eyes at him. "Linda told me the most interesting story."

"Did she now?"

"Um-hum. She were washing out the macaroni and cheese dish. Is it true you threatened to break your brothers' fingers to get a date with her?"

"No." Danny shrugged. "Well, maybe, but it wasn't a _threat_ threat."

Frank looked over at his eldest. "If that answer doesn't require further explanation, I don't know what would. Danny?"

"No, Dad, let Linda tell it. Go on," Erin prodded.

"It was that evening Jamie was brought to the hospital. I was headed up to Jamie's room; Danny had left his jacket in the ER and I was going to return it…"

FEBRUARY 9, 1998 – ST MICHAEL'S HOSPITAL

"Officer Reagan," Linda called as she walked toward the elevators and spotted the person she was headed upstairs to see.

Danny turned around to face her. "Hello, Nurse… Linda?"

His smile set her heart fluttering, like a silly teenager. "Linda."

"And I usually go by Danny when I'm not in uniform."

"Danny." Linda held out his uniform jacket to him. "You left this in the ER." Then she realized his hands were full with a casserole dish, in addition to the duffle bag slung over one shoulder. "Can I help you with anything?"

"Maybe you could get this dish? If I hold it much longer, I'm going to eat the whole thing and there won't be any left for Jamie," Danny joked.

"What is it? It smells delicious." She handed him his jacket and took the casserole dish from him.

"Grandma's macaroni and cheese. Jamie's favorite food."

"Speaking of, how is your little brother?"

"The family tells me he came through the surgery just fine and wants to go home right now."

"Of course he does, after the past week." Linda sympathized with their young patient.

"Which is why the family has me playing pack mule and bringing him food, bedding and his jammies. We can't bring him home, so we'll bring home to him, as my brother put it." As the elevator arrived, Danny gestured for her to precede him into the cab.

"Sixth floor?" Linda asked.

"Yep, the Children's General Medical Floor." Danny shook his head. "He's gonna love that name. Jamie hates people thinking of him as a child, even though he's the baby of the family."

"So, that Officer Reagan, the one who hurt his ankle last week in Brooklyn? Is he also family?"

Danny looked upward, toward the sixth floor where his family was, and sighed dramatically. "Another brother, another busted ankle. That was my younger brother Joe you saw last week."

"You have any more injury-prone brothers?" Linda asked.

"No more brothers, but I'm sure one of those two could break a finger or something next time you're on duty," Danny joked.

-BB-BB-BB-

"Danny, did you really say that?" Erin asked.

"Hey, it's not like I actually did anything," Danny defended himself.

"Guess I'm lucky all my finger bones are intact," Jamie spoke up from the loveseat.

"Well, look who's awake," Erin greeted him.

"I wasn't actually going to break any bones, numbskull," Danny informed his brother. "Linda, remember the second half of that sentence. I think it was, 'or maybe you could give me your phone number, so we could meet somewhere other than a hospital.'"

"That's right, you did add that disclaimer."

"I did. And you gave me your number. So, you see, Jamie, your fingers were never in any danger," Danny argued.

"Linda, I can't thank you enough for saying yes to my brother. I hate to think what he would've threatened to break the next time," Jamie teased.

* * *

 _A/N: This long chapter used to be even longer. There's a scene I cut from this chapter, where Jamie first claims a girl he likes is just "a girl from school" and which explains what Joe was up to at the hospital. I'll post it after the end of this story (in another 5 chapters or so) if you want to see it!_


	19. Chapter 18 – Remembrance of Monday Past

**CHAPTER 18 – REMEMBRANCE OF MONDAY PAST**

OCTOBER 15, 2012 – MONDAY, EARLY AM

Several hours later, Frank found himself lying in bed, unable to sleep. He finally got up, shrugged into his robe and went to check on his sleeping family. Jack and Sean were tucked into bed in Danny's old room at the end of the hall; Danny had chosen to take his wife and head home for some "alone time." Frank had a pretty good idea of what _that_ meant. He headed down the hall to Jamie's room, peeking in the door that Jamie had left open by a few inches, once again watching his son sleep. Jamie lay sprawled face down across his old bed, snoring quietly, apparently untroubled by the nightmare. He took one last look at his son – safe; alive and well – before turning back toward his room. He saw a light on downstairs and changed his path. "Hello, Pop. You're up late," he told his father as he got to the first floor.

Henry motioned for Frank to follow him to the kitchen. "Decaf hot tea. My Betty's foolproof cure for insomnia," Henry stated as he poured the beverage into a mug.

Frank accepted the mug from his father and sat down at the table. "Why are you awake?"

"Heard you tell Danny about that note. Thought you might not be sleeping well tonight."

"It slipped out." Frank argued.

"You needed to tell someone. Just like you had to tell me about it back then…"

FEBRUARY 9, 1998, MONDAY NOON - REAGAN HOUSE, BAY RIDGE

Henry Reagan pulled open the door as his son and grandson approached the back entrance to the family home. Frank had called him an hour earlier, requesting that he gather the family at the house at noon. With Frank and Joe's arrival, the family, except for Danny, and except for Jamie, was together in the family room. Henry took one look at his son's face and knew something was very, very wrong. "Joe, go join the rest of the family. We'll be there shortly," he ordered his grandson. He gave Joe a minute to reach the family room, then turned to his son. "Francis, what's happened?"

In reply, Frank handed him a note, written on the same expensive stationary as the first note _she_ had sent. Henry read the note, and felt his heart drop as he processed the threat. Jamie's safety was only guaranteed until six P.M. or maybe a little later. He looked over at his son, who had leaned forward against the kitchen table, his head hanging low, looking more defeated than Henry had ever seen him.

"Pop, it's over, and we've lost," Frank said quietly. "I don't have any answers to give her. Jamie…" His voice caught on the words. _Jamie, my baby boy, is dead._

"Jamie is alive," Henry said, as if he could read his son's mind. He gripped Frank's arm. "It's _not_ over yet. You told me Danny is checking out one more lead. Give him a chance to follow that lead before you give up."

"They only have one place left to check. If he's not there…"

"We'll deal with the 'if's' if they happen," Henry insisted. "My recommendation? Go on the offensive. Lie to her. Tell her you'll trade the information she wants for Jamie, in person. Make her bring him to the trade."

Frank shook his head. "Too much risk. Too many things that could go wrong and endanger Jamie's life."

"More than it already is?" Henry asked, gesturing toward the note that promised his grandson would be dead by the next morning. "Jamie's stubborn. He's a fighter. If nothing else, setting up a trade might give him a chance to get away, and you know he'll take it if he can."

Frank nodded. "Whatever I do, I have to tell the family. They need to know where we stand."

"Okay. But wait to hear from Danny," Henry insisted. "This could all be over soon."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Frank all but whispered.

Henry silently placed a hand on his son's back. His son was finally crumbling. He'd stayed strong for all of them through the whole week, but this last bit of news was about to break him. "Francis, Danny is going to find Jamie. Give him a little more time."

Frank nodded as he tried to pull himself together.

"Stay here for a few minutes. I'll go keep the family busy," Henry advised as he turned to head for the family room. He had just passed the phone when it rang.

Both he and Frank stared at the phone as it rang a second time. Henry grabbed the receiver. "Reagan residence," he barked.

"Chief Reagan?" a female voice inquired.

"No, this is Henry Reagan. Who is this?"

"Commissioner," the voice replied, more formal now, as if the person were standing at attention. "Officer Lintz, Dispatch. Detective Halsey asked me to relay to you that Jamie Reagan has been recovered. Alive. They…"

The voice continued to ramble on in his ear, something about a bus being requested, but Henry wasn't listening closely anymore. "Francis, they found him! He's alive! He's safe!"

Frank grabbed the phone from his father's hand. "Officer, Chief Reagan. Confirm your last report." He listened as the officer repeated the news, feeling relief wash over him. Jamie was alive and out of _her_ clutches. Being taken to the hospital for some non-critical leg injury, but _alive_. Safe with Danny.

Alerted by Henry's shout, Mary ran into the kitchen, followed by Joe, Erin and Betty. "Frank?"

"He's safe. Alive," Frank confirmed to his wife. She threw herself into his arms, sobbing in relief. Frank buried his face against the top of her head, hiding tears of his own.

Henry crossed the room to hang the phone back on its base, just in case they called back with an update. He pulled his own wife into a hug. "You know, Betty, it's okay to cry," he teased his wife. She'd slapped him on the arm, but didn't pull away from him right away. And when she finally did, she headed straight for the kitchen and busied herself making Jamie's favorite dinner.

-BB-BB-BB-

"That was your mother," Henry recalled fondly. "The typical Riley. She'd never let you see her cry in public, but she'd be the first one at your door with food in time of crisis."

"She expressed herself through practical acts rather than emotional ones." Frank raised his mug of tea toward his father. "Something you apparently learned from her."

"I did pick up a few things from Betty over the years," Henry joked, before he turned serious. "And how is my youngest grandson doing?"

"Sound asleep in his bed."

"Francis, is Jamie safe here?"

"For tonight? Yes. After that? No. Not here. Not anywhere, with her on the loose."

"You think she's going to come after Jamie again." Henry didn't make it a question.

"I do. She told us last week that she always keeps her word. And her last word to us fifteen years ago was the threat to kill him if we didn't get her answers."

"So when are you going to have her arrested?"

Frank frowned and sighed quietly. "Pop, until she gets too close to Jamie or someone else in the family and violates the restraining order again, she's a law abiding citizen with the right to live her life."

"Hmph. So we're going to do nothing while she plots against Jamie and he hides at his brother's."

"I didn't say I was doing nothing. I've had eyes on her, unofficially, ever since she was released yesterday evening. She went to the cemetery, then to her apartment. Hasn't left it since."

"A phone tap would be too official, I suppose."

"It would. And Jamie can live his life. Keep working patrol. He just won't be doing it as Jamie Reagan next week."

"Then what name will he be using this time?"

"Jack Conor."

"Mary's father?" When Frank nodded, Henry smiled. "Jack Conor rides again. I like it. He was a good officer."

"It will work for a few days, at least."

"And give you time to get her back behind bars, where she belongs," Henry added.

"Or time for us to find some of those answers for her. And to that end, I'm having Danny and his partner are going to reopen some cases tomorrow."


	20. Chapter 19 – Looking for Answers

**CHAPTER 19 – LOOKING FOR ANSWERS**

MONDAY, OCTOBER 15, 2012 – 12th PRECINCT

Vinnie Cruz leaned against the driver side of his patrol car and glanced down at his watch. It was thirty minutes after the beginning of watch, and his temporary partner was nowhere to be seen. This day was off to a wonderful start. First he was told Reagan was taking some leave and he'd be riding with a new transfer, Jack Conor, and now Conor was late. On his first day at a new station house. Not the way to make a good first impression.

Vinnie wasn't really surprised Jamie was taking some time off. Vinnie had spent a few hours of his day off - on a Saturday, no less - on a rare trip to the library to look up just what had happened to his partner fifteen year earlier. If that had happened to him, and the person responsible was out on the streets, he'd be hiding too. Somewhere far, far away from where he was expected to be. Somewhere like Miami, or Los Angeles, or the Caribbean. Somewhere where the weather was hot and the women even hotter...

Finally, an officer exited the building and strode toward the patrol. Vinnie pulled his thoughts away from his fantasy and sized up the man. Dark sunglasses, even though it was still early morning; light blonde hair showing under his uniform cap and across his upper lip; what seemed to be an arrogant swagger. Probably some know-it-all pretty boy. As if he needed another aggravation today.

"Hey, you Conor?" Vinnie yelled to the man.

The officer flipped a salute his way.

Vinnie took as a yes. "Well, get your ass in the car. We're already late, thanks to you." He dropped himself into the driver seat and began starting the engine.

Conor joined him in the car shortly thereafter. "Sorry, but the hair dye took longer than we thought it would."

Vinnie recognized the voice and looked up at the officer. "Reagan? What the heck?"

Jamie smiled at his partner, and briefly lifted the sunglasses off his eyes. "Jack Conor. The name's Jack Conor, at least for the next few days."

Vinnie looked him over. "Y'know, J – I can still call you J, right? That blond shade isn't really your color. And the sunglasses. This isn't the beach. And that 'stache. That works for your father. Not so much for you." Vinnie looked at him again, then snapped his fingers. "Iceman. From _Top Gun_. That's who you look like."

"Point is, I don't look like Jamie Reagan. It fooled you."

"And it might fool that woman," Vinnie realized. "The one who kidnapped you back then."

"That's the idea," Jamie agreed. "Now, can we get out on patrol? We're already late."

-BB-BB-BB-

At about the same time, at the Major Case Unit, Danny arrived at the office to find his partner already hard at work, reviewing a file. Two dusty boxes sat on top of his desk. "Greetings, partner," Danny called out. "What's all this?" He gestured toward the boxes.

Jackie looked up from the file. "A closed death investigation for you." She tilted the file she held toward him. "And a closed abduction case for me. You never told me your baby brother was kidnapped."

"Dad... the Commissioner didn't tell me he was having us reopen Jamie's case also," Danny mused.

"This Thornsberg shrew really put your father through hell," Jackie commented. "Sending these daily notes; threatening to harm your brother..."

"Let me see." Danny stepped around his desk to look at the file. He needed to see the note that still unsettled his father, even after fifteen years.

Jackie closed the file and held it to her chest. "Reagan, you don't need to see the pictures."

Danny motioned for her to put the file down on the desk. "Damn right I don't need to see the pictures. I caught the live show at the hospital when the photographer was taking them." Danny knew those images were permanently burned into his memory. Jamie's swollen, discolored ankle, his puffy cheek decorated with a deep purple bruise, the other multicolored bruises all over his body from rough handling during the abduction and his falls on the stairs, the healing Taser burns on his leg, shoulder and side. And the humiliated look in his brother's eyes as he had to endure being photographed for the police file. Danny tried to push those memories away. "Open up."

Jackie reluctantly opened the file. "Here's the notes for each of the first four days your brother was missing; these three came with a newspaper masthead signed by your brother in crayon and a deli receipt."

"Her version of proof of life." Danny reached down to touch the copy of the newspaper scraps. The _New York Times_ , dated the day after the abduction; the _New York Post_ for the next two days. He tried to imagine what Jamie must have been thinking when he scrawled his signature across the paper. "Jamie Henri Reagani," he read off the one copy. He couldn't keep back a small smile.

"Yeah, what was that about?" Jackie asked. "Your brother forget how to spell his name?"

"A thing we used to do on pizza night. Go Italian. Dad, Joe, Erin and I were the O'Reagano family. Like the spice."

"Oregano. I get it."

"And Grandpa Henry and Grandma Betty, Jamie and Mom – Mary – were the Reagani family. Because it rhymed, sort of." Danny finished his explanation. "I hadn't thought about that in years." He looked down at the copies again – the newspaper scraps and the deli receipts. "I guess Ms. Thornsberg wanted us to know she was keeping him entertained and fed."

"At least until she started threatening him. Look at the note from Sunday. She makes that veiled threat and there's no proof of life. Then in Monday's note, she all but states that she was going to kill Jamie that evening. That must have just about ripped your father apart."

Danny spun the file around so he could read it. Words jumped off the pages. _Dealing with your own son's death… Out of time… Six o'clock… Tell you where to find your son's body._ Seeing the threats on paper suddenly made it much more real, much more immediate. Danny suddenly felt as if a giant black hole had opened at his feet. "Goddammit. Why didn't Dad tell us?" he almost yelled.

"Reagan, when would he have told you? This last note arrived late Monday morning, just a few hours before you rescued your brother," Jackie argued.

Danny slammed a fist down on the file. "This. This is why he called the family meeting for that afternoon. Because he knew if Halsey and I hadn't found Jamie at her house, it was over. He was calling the family together to let us know Jamie wasn't coming home." He gripped the edge of Jackie's desk and leaned on it for support as the black hole threatened to suck him in. A list of "what if's" popped into his head. _What if Joe hadn't thought to look for other name Ms. Thornsberg may have used? What if that information hadn't quickly led Joe and the detective to the address for her Long Island mansion? What if that delay had caused them to arrive at her house the next day or even just a few hours later? What would they have found then?_ That was suddenly the most important question. "Did she say how she planned on doing it?" he asked.

Jackie shook her head. "Reagan, why does that matter? Your brother's fine."

"It just does. How did she plan on killing him?"

"She didn't say. But that bottle of soda she was taking up to Jamie when you arrived? It was laced with morphine and sedatives. He would've been groggy and disoriented all afternoon. He wouldn't have been able to fight back against anything she had planned. Or a second dose of drugs later in the afternoon would've been enough that he would've drifted off and never woken up."

Danny tried to force the terrifying images out of his head of his fifteen-year-old brother struggling to fight the effects of the drugs, to stay conscious. Of _her_ coming at him with a gun, a knife, a pillow, a baseball bat, another bottle of drugged soda. Of Jamie trying to get away, trying to resist, and failing. Of his baby brother lying dead, murdered, in Marjorie Thornsberg's attic. He turned so he was sitting on the edge of the desk and ran his hands roughly over his face. "We were almost too late."

"But you weren't, Reagan. You got to him in time. He's fine, right? You had your Sunday dinner with him yesterday, right?" Jackie prompted.

"Right." He took several deep breaths, trying to connect back to that reality. He looked over at the boxes on his desk. "Gromley tell you what we're looking for?"

"Nope. He had those boxes delivered to your desk, and gave me this file," she held up Jamie's file, "as background reading. Said you'd fill me in."

"The detective back then decided the Parker Carrington case was a suicide. My little brother is convinced that Ms. Thornsberg killed her son – I'll tell you why later – and the Commissioner wants us to do a thorough investigation. Find out what happened and why."

Jackie looked at the boxes. "Where do you want to start?"

Danny grabbed a box. "I'm going to start by cleaning off my desk." He dropped the box onto the floor. "Then I want to review the detective's initial reports. Why don't you start with the autopsy report – see what you think."

The next few hours passed quietly, at least as quiet as the squad room ever got, as the two detectives reviewed reports. Danny picked up one of the crime scene pictures, squinted at it, rotated it around and stared at it again. "Jackie, tell me what you see here," he asked, pushing the picture toward her desk.

Jackie looked down at the photo. "Looks like the crime scene, after the body was removed."

"Over here, there's a large bloodstain on the carpet where Parker's body was found. But look over here," Danny pointed to a spot about six feet away. "There's another puddle of blood. How do you make two puddles of blood from one gunshot to the head? Did this guy shot himself in the foot, then blow his brains out?"

"There was only the one bullet wound. Coroner said it was instantly fatal, so he wouldn't have been crawling around after the shot, either." Jackie noted.

"So, there was a second person in the room. Second victim or a murderer?" Danny asked.

"Or the person who cleaned up the scene after the suicide," Jackie argued. "Rearranged the body."

"Nuh-uh. Taking the gun, I'd understand. But moving the body?" Danny questioned. "I think we're looking for a second victim."

"Gunshot wounds have to be reported. If the other person was injured and went to a hospital, there would be a record." Jackie said as she conceded Danny's point.

"Or they might have filed a police report, if they weren't the murderer." Danny pulled a coin out of his desk drawer. "Flip you for it – loser gets the hospital records."

"Heads," Jackie called.

Danny flipped the coin. "Tails. You lose."

"Reagan, that's going to take days. You'll have to help out."

"Later, Curatola. I've got to get down to the archives." Danny called as he headed for the door. "Hey, at least 150-year-old ammunition isn't that common. That will narrow down the possibilities," he called over his shoulder.

Unfortunately for Danny, it didn't take more than an hour to determine that there were no crime reports that were a match. No murders, no attempted murders, not even any reports of discharging a firearm within city limits. He headed back to the squad room and the tedious work of contacting hospitals about fifteen-year-old records. As Jackie had predicted, it wasn't a small project, but by the end of the day, they had contacted every hospital in the area.

Danny dropped his phone back into its cradle. "Nothing. And that was the last place to call."

Jackie looked at the crime scene photograph again. "From the amount of blood lost, this person would have _needed_ a hospital," she commented. "They would be a patient in a hospital, or else they'd be a body at the morgue."

"If they found the body," Danny said. "Jack, what if the body that goes with that blood was never found?"

"Therefore, no crime report, and no hospital record."

"We need to check missing person reports, runaways, for the days around when Parker died. I bet one of them is our missing body. And get a DNA report on that blood, see if it matches to any missing person, or any body found since then."

Jackie groaned and leaned forward on her desk. "Reagan, do you have any idea how many records that's going to be? And how hard they'll be to find? Can we start on that tomorrow?"

"Jack, this lady threatened to kill my baby brother fifteen years ago, and she just last week told my father she always keeps her word. Every day she's out there, it's another chance for her act on her threat. So, I'm going to get started tonight." Danny looked over his partner. She had been looking paler and thinner than usual lately. "If you need to call it a day, I'll understand."

"Tell you what. You go down to archives and round up any files, and I'll stay here and grab some coffee.

Several hours and multiple case files later, Jackie sat up in her chair. "Hey, Reagan, what was the name of that school Parker attended?"

"Wintertown Academy."

Jackie stood up and dropped the file she had been looking at on Danny's desk. "Here. Annalise Taffield. Sixteen, from Upper East Side, student at Winterton, disappeared right around the date Parker Carrington died."

"They don't have an exact date?" Danny questioned.

"Apparently the parents were on vacation and left her alone in their apartment with the staff. The maid couldn't remember exactly when she'd last seen the girl."

"Anything that connects her to Carrington?" Danny asked as he perused the file.

"Parents suspected drug use. They say they were getting ready to force her into a rehab facility, just as soon as they had returned from their vacation. They figured she'd run away to avoid that."

"And there's the connection. Parker was probably her dealer. Maybe her boyfriend also?"

"Maybe. We need to talk to some of her friends from back then. There's a few names in the file."

"And we need to connect her DNA to that bloodstain. Otherwise, we're on the wrong track," Danny said. "But while that's in process, we'll track down her friends. Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow. And Danny, there's one other line we need to follow in proving that Ms. Thornsburg killed her son. Balistics. We need to take your brother back to that mansion. See if he can show us where those bullets she fired at him landed, so we can run them, possibly match them to the Carrington death."

"I know." Danny sighed. "He's been doing so well the last few nights. I don't want to trigger a new round of nightmares by dragging him back through that house."

"Reagan, we need that evidence. If it really is the same gun, it goes a long way to proving your brother's theory."

Danny nodded. "Yeah. I'll talk to him about it. Later. Let's work on this Annalise Taffield angle first."

-BB-BB-BB-

Several days later, Danny had tracked down Annalise Taffield's best friend from Winterton. Elaine Swinton; now a teacher at a charter school in the Bronx. The two detectives quickly headed out to the school.

Danny looked at the school building Jackie had parked their car in front of. "This is the Achievement Academy? This is where Elaine Swinton teaches?" he asked his partner incredulously.

"Quite a change from the stately brick buildings of Winterton," Jackie commented as she looked over the worn brick and cement block structure in one of the Bronx's worst neighborhoods.

The two detectives departed their car and entered the school building. The principle directed them to Classroom 10, where Elaine Swinton, former best friend of Annalise Taffield, taught first grade. Danny knocked on the open door. "Miss Swinton?"

"Yes?" The attractive brunette turned away from cleaning off a whiteboard.

"Detectives Reagan and Curatola. We'd like to ask you some questions about…"

"If this is about Jerry, I'm sure he didn't mean to steal my photo frame. He hasn't been taught to ask before borrowing other peoples' belongings, and he only wanted to show his sister what a beach looked like," Elaine blurted out.

"No, Miss, this isn't about Jerry."

"Oh." Elaine blushed. "Then forget what I just said, please."

"Already forgotten," Danny replied. "We're actually here about Annalise Taffield."

Elaine went still. "You found her?"

Danny shook his head. "No. But we think her disappearance might connect to another case we're investigating. You two were students at Winterton Academy together?"

"Yes," Elaine nodded. "Best friends since first grade until the day she vanished."

"You have any other close friends? Like Andrew Parker Carrington?"

"Annalise's disappearance is related to Parker's death?" Elaine leaned back against the whiteboard.

"We don't know. We're trying to work out the relationships between them."

Elaine nodded, then moved to her desk and began fidgeting with the school supplies. "Parker was Annalise's boyfriend, and her supplier," she said after a few minutes. "I don't know very much about him, since he was a few years older than Annalise and me. But I didn't like him, didn't like how he used drugs, didn't like how he distributed drugs all over campus, didn't like how he got her hooked." Elaine paused for a minute. "I always thought Annalise's disappearance and Parker's death were related to the drug dealing. I didn't have any proof, though, and it seemed like Parker's mother wanted the investigation into his death closed before it could embarrass the family. It was the same with Annalise's disappearance. Her parents told the police she ran away and got the case closed as quickly as possible. They didn't care what might have really happened; they just wanted to avoid the potential scandal."

"And what do you think happened?" Jackie asked.

"I think Parker's supplier was responsible for both; for Annalise disappearing and Parker dying. His name was Johnny… something. They called him Johnny Lightning. I called him Slick, because of his hair. He used far too much hair product. I don't know his real last name."

"And you think Johnny Lightning killed them?"

"Maybe. Annalise told me they had messed up a delivery. Johnny had given them a package of drugs to distribute to his 'customers' on campus, and a little extra to recruit new customers, but the whole box got stolen after they stopped at a party and got high. Annalise was terrified Johnny was going to kill Parker, and maybe her also. She wanted the two of them to go to the police and turn themselves in. That was the last time I saw her. She came to my parent's apartment and told me all this, and I gave her the phone number for a family friend who was a criminal defense attorney. She left to go home, at least that's where she told me she was going, and I never saw her again. The next day, we heard that Parker had killed himself."

"But no one reported Annalise missing for a few days," Danny prodded.

"Because her parents were on a damn business trip and the maids didn't care. She'd already been cutting class and staying at Parker's apartment for two days before that last time we met. And me? I didn't know what to think. I thought maybe she really did run away, to get away from her parents, or from the drug rehab they had threatened her with, or from Johnny Lightning. My parents didn't want me to be involved, as if anyone would have paid attention to a sixteen-year-old anyway."

"We're paying attention now," Danny told her. "Is there anything else you can tell us?"

Elaine shook her head no. "Nothing comes to mind right now." She looked up at the detectives. "You think she's dead, don't you?"

"That's one thing we're investigating now," Jackie said.

"Of course you think she's dead. It's been sixteen years." Elaine sighed. "Can you let me know what you find out? I'm not in close contact with her family, or even my own family anymore."

Danny handed Elaine one of his business cards. "Of course. Please call me if you think of anything else." He lead Jackie out of the room and back to their car.

"Johnny Lightning," he commented to Jackie as they got into the car. "I think I know who that is."

"You do?"

"Come on, Curatola. You've had your caffeine this morning. Johnny Lightning, slick hair, into criminal activity. Who does that sound like?"

"Reagan, it's still too early in the morning for this. Who?"

"Tesla. Johnny Tesla. That thug friend of Noble Sanfino's who beat on Jamie last year. Tesla… Electricity… Lightning…. And how many people like to use that much hair goo?"

"People with hair," Jackie teased. "But seriously, small world, huh?"

"I think we solved the 'why' of Parker's death, even if we don't have the 'how' nailed down yet," Danny mused. "He was being threatened by his supplier because he'd lost a delivery and was about to embarrass his family by turning himself in to the cops. Maybe he did himself in, maybe his mother killed him. Either way, it comes back to those lost drugs."

"And Annalise?"

"Collateral damage. Marjorie Thornsberg couldn't let her run to the cops and tell them what happened," Danny surmised.

"We need to find her. Or her body," Jackie commented. "Might be some answers out at the Thornsberg house."

Danny sighed. "Yeah. I guess it's time to reawaken Jamie's nightmares."


	21. Chapter 20 - Finding Resolution

_A/N: No chapter yesterday, but a nice long one today for make up for it. We'll be back on schedule for the last few chapters. And thanks for the continuing reviews!  
_

* * *

 **CHAPTER 20 – FINDING RESOLUTION**

OCTOBER 21, 2012, SUNDAY - REAGAN HOME, BAY RIDGE

"You want me to do _what_?" Jamie asked his brother incredulously. He took a big draw on his beer. Maybe he was hallucinating. That was it. A post-Sunday-dinner food coma was causing hallucinations. That had to be the reason he just heard his brother ask him to go back into that house of horrors.

And until Danny's request, it had been such a pleasant Sunday dinner. Heck, the whole week had been mostly worry free. He'd spent three days playing "Iceman," putting on an arrogant, cocky attitude and strutting around, calling his partner "Maverick" whenever he could. It had actually been kind of fun. And then he'd heard from his father that Marjorie Thornsberg had left New York for the Virgin Islands. Gone on vacation. He had been thoroughly annoyed with her about that. How dare she put him and the rest of the family through the wringer for a week; force him into wearing a disguise and using an alias; and then just take off for a beach vacation? Where she still was, as far as they knew. They didn't have a way to watch her there. Apparently, the influence of the NYPD Commissioner didn't extend to that territory for unofficial surveillance. Jamie shook his head and tried to focus on what his brother was saying.

"Go back to Marjorie Thornsberg's house and go over your statement. Maybe find those bullets she fired at you," Danny repeated.

"Go back," Jamie repeated. Apparently, he wasn't hallucinating. "Back there."

"C'mon, kid. I'll be there with you. I promise. And Jackie will be there, too," Danny encouraged. "It might be the key to getting this whole thing wrapped up. We might find something that Erin could use to send her ass back to prison."

Jamie considered Danny's argument while he tried to force back the panic that was trying to claw its way to the surface. If a few minutes back at _her_ house could put the fear to rest, maybe it would be worth it. "Okay," he choked out. "When?"

Danny's hand came down on his shoulder. "Tomorrow. I'll call Renzulli and work out the time."

Jamie nodded. "You might want to get that baby monitor out again tonight. Have a feeling I'm not going to have a restful night," he tried to joke.

-BB-BB-BB-

Monday afternoon, Danny and Jackie picked up Jamie at his station house at the beginning of his shift and drove out to Long Island and Marjorie Thornsberg's estate. As Danny turned off the street onto the driveway of the large residence, he felt Jamie leaning forward against the front seat of his car.

"I've never seen this place from the outside before," Jamie commented. "It's impressive. Kinda spooky."

"What, you afraid of ghosts or something?" Danny teased to lighten the mood. He knew his brother was probably more apprehensive about the memories this place had to drag up than any other form of non-corporeal specter. "It's sat vacant for fifteen years. Deferred maintenance and all that." He brought the car to a stop near the front door.

"Yeah. You sure she's not here?" Jamie asked.

"As sure as I can be, kid. Last Dad heard, she was off on a beach somewhere."

"All the same, I'm keeping my gun with me."

"Wouldn't have it any other way, Officer Reagan. Now let's get going." Danny opened his door and stepped out of the car. Jackie did likewise. After a short pause, Jamie reluctantly left the safety of the car.

"You see that window up there? The one on the right? That's where Jamie was when Detective Halsey and I arrived here fifteen years ago," Danny informed Jackie. "We were just here to serve a search warrant, and he pops up in that window, banging on it like it was a bass drum."

"Wanted to make sure you didn't leave without me," Jamie retorted. He looked up at the window of the room that has been his prison for a week. "God, Danny, you can't even imagine what I was feeling when I saw you and Halsey get out of that car." Jamie wiped the sheen of perspiration off his forehead and re-settled his uniform cap on his head as the memory of those minutes returned full force.

FEBRUARY 9, 1998 – MONDAY, THORNSBERG MANSION

He'd been lying on the bed with his left leg propped up on the bed pillow – even with his makeshift split, it was the only position he'd found that lessened the throbbing pain in his ankle – when he heard _her_ car returning. He hoped she'd bring food again. She hadn't fed him yesterday, probably in retaliation for… for something he'd done the day before. He'd done something that resulted in him falling down the stairs and damaging his ankle, but what? All he could remember is that she'd been furious with him.

The sound of another car arriving interrupted his thoughts. That was unusual. Since she'd abducted him, he'd not seen anyone other than _her_. He got to his knees on the bed and peered out the window. A nondescript grey sedan was rolling to a stop halfway up the driveway. A large man stepped out of the driver side, and a uniformed cop – _was that Danny?_ – climbed out of the passenger side. It was Danny! He nearly sobbed in relief, then immediately began pounding on the window, yelling his brother's name. It only took a second for Danny to spot him and start running toward the house. But Danny hadn't gone more than two steps when the larger man stopped him. Jamie's heart caught in his chest. _No! Is that other man one of the kidnappers? Is Danny in trouble too?_ Then Danny waved up at him, raised a finger to his lips, and motioned for him to get down. Jamie clutched the window frame tightly as he tried calm himself enough to follow Danny's instructions. He had to trust his brother had some plan. He moved away from the window and sat down on the edge of the bed, barely controlling his excitement. _They're here, they're here, they're here, and they'll get me out._ He wrapped his arms around his body, trying to keep his breathing under control. _Danny's on his way. Just a few more minutes, and I'll be out of here._ He forced down the sudden urge to laugh. _You lose, Crazy Lady!_

He was bouncing nervously on the edge of the bed when Danny's first warning reached his ears, _"Jamie, watch out! She's on her way up!"_ He quickly stood up on his uninjured leg, then looked around the room, trying to find anything to use to defend himself. Nothing. He dropped back onto the bed, trying not to panic. Danny would stop her. He was a good cop. A moment later, he heard her fumbling with the door locks. Anxiety flared in his mind, wrapping around his chest, making it hard to breathe. Where was Danny? The door opened a crack, and he heard her threat, _"Chief Reagan isn't getting his son back…"_ , followed by a demand from Danny for her to drop 'it'. The thought popped into his head, _oh God, she'll kill me for sure this time_ , at the same time he heard Danny yell his name and the door started moving inward. Jamie bit his lip, then sprung to his feet and ran the two steps across the room to tackle the door shut. Pain like fire wrapped around his left leg. _It hurts. It hurts so bad._ He rolled off the door to lean against the wall, shifting his weight to his right leg. He heard some commotion on the other side of the door, and then Danny was there, standing in front of him, saying something to him, asking him something he'd mumbled a reply to between uncontrollable giggles, pulling him into a hug that jostled his injured ankle and sent another wave of pain spiraling up his leg, but that didn't matter anymore because he was _safe_.

-BB-BB-BB-

"Jamie? You okay?" Jackie's voice broke into his memory. "Hey, Reagan, get back here," he heard Jackie call to Danny. He felt her hands on his shoulders, pushing him down to sit on the car hood.

"'m okay," he mumbled, trying to shake the aftereffects of the memory.

Danny jogged back toward them, noticing how pale and clammy Jamie suddenly looked. "Kid, you don't look so hot. Are you sure you can do this?" Danny asked. "Because we'll be good if you can't. We're used to working with dead victims who aren't very helpful."

"Yeah, Jamie, you're kind of a bonus. A living, talking eyewitness." Jackie joked.

Jamie tried to smile as he wiped the fresh sweat off his forehead. "I'll be okay." He looked up at the attic windows. "What if you hadn't seen me? If I hadn't heard your car?"

Danny gripped his brother's shoulders tightly. "Jamie, we were going to rip this place apart, board by board, brick by brick, until we found you. There's no way we were leaving without you. But you made it a lot easier, showing up like you did." Danny gently grabbed the back of Jamie's neck and pulled him off the car. "Come on, kid. Let's get this over with."

The three walked toward the entrance to the house. Danny paused at the front door long enough to notice that the damage he'd done to the door all those years ago had been crudely repaired. Then he pulled out the key and opened the door, allowing them to enter the elaborate entrance hall.

Jamie looked around. "Where do you want to start, Danny?" he asked.

"Up in the attic. We need to recreate you great escape attempt. See if we can find that bullet," Danny replied, leading the way up the stairs. Soon, the trio stood in the third floor landing of the staircase, looking at the paneled walls. "Jamie, where were those attic stairs?" Danny asked.

"To the left of the main staircase," Jamie replied. He looked at the wall, which appeared to be solid wood panels. "The door should be right over there," he added, puzzled.

Danny walked over to the wall Jamie indicated. "That's what I thought." He began examining the wall, looking for any sign of a door.

Jamie looked from the wall Danny was inspecting to the identical wall on the other side of the stairs. He tensed as a memory flashed through his mind, accompanied by a wave of panic. _Standing in front of that paneled wall, a gun held against his back; her voice telling him to push in on the center panel…_ "Danny, it's the center panel. Push in on it and slide it sideways," Jamie stated quickly while he tried to clamp down on the fear. "That's how the other one worked."

"And how do you know that?" Danny asked as he followed Jamie's instructions. Much to his surprise, the panel slid back a few inches, and into a track which allowed it to slide sideways behind the adjacent panel.

"Whoa!" Jackie exclaimed. "What is _that_?"

"Secret passage to the attic, it looks like." Danny peeked inside the space. "Yep. There's the stairs."

Jamie wiped sweat off his forehead again. "It's like a damn horror movie," he commented. "If that had been closed when you got here… God, would you ever have found me?"

Danny turned to his brother. "Remember what I said before? We knew you were here and we would've torn this place to the ground to find you, got it?"

"Got it," Jamie mumbled. "Still, that belongs in a horror movie."

"I'm with Jamie," Jackie agreed. "It's creepy. Like we'll go up those stairs and find a bunch of hacked-up skeletons and the ghost of a hockey-masked axe murderer."

"Are you two coming with, or are you afraid of the ghosties?" Danny asked as he headed up the stairs.

Jamie silently followed his brother, with Jackie close behind him. They stood at the top of the stairs, looking at an attic space divided into two rooms: an open area at the top of the staircase, empty except for a small dresser against the far wall, and a walled-off room across the front of the attic.

Jamie walked past Danny to the door of the room that had been his prison for almost a week. He looked inside. The room was virtually unchanged from fifteen years earlier; the same bed, the mattress now rotting, the same barred windows, the same heavy locks on the door. "I wonder if there a history of mental illness or retardation in Marjorie Thornsberg's family?" he said as he looked around.

"You mean other than the obvious case – hers?" Danny moved to stand beside his brother.

"If there was, I'll bet the family built this room to house a disabled family member."

"What, you'd just lock the kid up here instead of taking care of him?" Danny asked. Jackie also looked at Jamie questioningly.

"Sure. Hide the child away from society. Professor Chaney discussed it in Disability Law at Harvard. Having a disabled child was seen as punishment – God punishing you for some wronging, usually assumed to be adultery by the mother. So instead of letting society know the child was born 'defective,' you'd build a room in the attic where you could hide them away. It had to be far away from the main areas of the house, so no one would hear the child, and secure enough that the child couldn't get away," Jamie explained.

"People suck," Jackie commented as Jamie finished his explanation.

"They do. Let's get on with this and get out of here," Danny said. "Jamie, I'll be you, and Jackie will be Ms. Thornsberg. Tell me where you were when she came upstairs that day."

Jamie pointed to a spot beside the door. "As soon as I heard her on the stairs, I got right there, standing with my back to the wall, pillow ready to fight."

Danny took his position. "And where was Marjorie?"

"Right outside the door."

Jackie also moved into place. "Now what?"

"She opened the door a little bit, I kicked it open and just started swinging."

Danny swung an imaginary pillow at his partner.

"I knocked the gun out of her grip and she stumbled backwards. I ran out of the room and down the stairs."

Following his direction, Jackie took a few steps backward, and Danny walked out of the room and started down the stairs.

"Okay, so you're on the stairs. Where was Ms. Thornsberg at this point?" Jackie asked.

Jamie frowned. "I don't know. I was so focused on getting away…"

"That's okay. So you'd run down this staircase…"

Jamie followed Danny down the stairs, with Jackie trailing behind. "I bounced off the wall at the bottom of the stairs – I just couldn't stop – and took a second to figure out where I was, then ran to the main stairs." He followed Danny across the landing to the top of the flight of stairs. "I might have seen her at the entry to the attic stairs right before I started down these stairs. Maybe. But I just ran as fast as I could, until I got to those last few stairs."

Danny jogged down the stairs. "This about right?" he asked.

Jamie nodded. "Right about there. That's where I was when she let out that scream, and I tripped."

"So, you tripped here, and fell the rest of the way down, and ended up where?" Danny asked.

"Lying face down across the bottom of the stairs. My shoulder was about even with the banister." Jamie pointed down the stairs.

"Trip, fall, fall, and then you're down." Danny walked down the remaining steps, then laid down on the floor. "And then?"

Jamie followed Danny down the stairs. "And then it takes a few seconds for the world to stop spinning, and I look up, and she's walking down the stairs with that revolver aimed right at me."

Jackie moved to the top stair. "Okay, then I'm like 'It's old, I'm crazy', and…"

"And I tried to stand up and run, and my ankle wouldn't hold my weight, and as I was falling down again, that's when I heard the shot she took at me."

"Bam," Jackie pantomimed firing a gun, then carefully studied the area. "Reagan, check that wood trim beside that window. I think I see something."

Danny stood up and walked to the window, scrutinizing the framing. "And there it is," he said, fingering a small hole in the wood trim. He glanced up at Jackie, thinking. "Jamie, come stand right here," he ordered, pointing to a spot on the bottom of the stairs.

Jamie complied with his brother's request. "What are we doing?"

Danny looked from the wall to his partner, drawing a line from Point A to Point B; a line that went right through his brother's body. "We're thinking about how lucky you are, kid. If you'd managed to stand up, that bullet would've hit you square in the chest."

"Right about where you shield is," Jackie called down from the top of the stairs. "Damn, Reagan junior, talk about the luck of the Irish. Breaking your ankle probably saved your life." Jackie jogged down the stairs to join the Reagans. She stopped abruptly halfway down. "Reagan, did you see this?" she called down.

"What?"

"Another bullet in the stairs up here."

Danny ran up the stairs to join her. He squatted down on the stair and examined the bullet hole. "Jamie, when did she fire this shot? When you were running down the stairs?" He looked for his brother. "Jamie, get up here."

Jamie reluctantly walked up the stairs to join his brother and Jackie. "No," he said quietly. "That was a few minutes later. When she was forcing me back upstairs." He sank down onto the stair as seeing solid evidence caused the memory to resurface vividly. _He'd managed to hop halfway up the stairs when he had to stop and rest. The exertion and panic were leaving him breathless. "You stupid little brat," she yelled from behind him. "Keep going! Stupid boy!" The last insult was followed immediately by another gunshot. He yelped in surprise at the sound and tried to run up the next few steps. He didn't get very far. Pain ripped through his leg again, and he fell hard against the stairs, adding a few more bruises to the ones he'd picked up falling down the stairs. His panic level escalated dramatically. He was going to die right here on this staircase. She was crazy, and she was going to kill him, because he couldn't climb stairs on an injured leg._

"Kid, you okay? Stay with us here." Danny was suddenly at his side, gripping the back of his neck, gently pushing his head down toward his knees. "Breathe."

Jamie worked on pushing back the darkness edging into his vision. "She was forcing me back upstairs. I couldn't walk on my busted ankle, so I was hopping up them one at a time. I had to stop to catch my breath, and… she must have been in a hurry, because she screamed insults at me and then," he gestured toward the damaged stair, "BOOM, right behind me…" Jamie chuckled weakly. "I tried to run, but my ankle... It didn't work. God, I thought she was really going to kill me. Right then and there."

"But she didn't. You got out safe," Danny said as he wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulders. _No wonder he couldn't remember any of this. Just a kid, abducted, left alone for days and then within ten minutes time, he's broken his ankle, he's hurting and she's screaming at him, shooting at him, slapping him, threatening him and shooting at him again. He just didn't have the resources to process that kind of unexpected violence. And then she went right back to ignoring him for two more days. Those few minutes must have started to seem like a dream. A nightmare._ Danny tightened his grip on Jamie. "This is what your nightmare's about, isn't it? These few minutes? This is where it started."

Jamie thought for a minute, then nodded. "I guess so. Maybe."

"You doing okay?" Danny asked.

Jamie nodded. "Okay. Let's just finish this and get the hell out of here."

Danny looked back up the stairs. "Jamie, let's go over the chain of events one more time. You got out of that room, ran down the attic stairs and part of this main staircase. You tripped about two-thirds of the way down and fell the rest of the way. Then, Ms. Thornsberg took that first shot at you, came downstairs herself, slapped you across the face, yelled at you and forced you back up the stairs, firing that second shot when you were about halfway up? And then locked you back in that attic room."

Jamie nodded. "That's a good summary," he confirmed.

"Okay, I think that's everything we need from you. Jackie and I can come back later with the crime scene unit." Danny helped Jamie to his feet, then laid one hand on his brother's back. "Kiddo, those nightmares that started here? They can end here too," he told his brother. "You're leaving here on your own terms this time. Remember that tonight."

Jamie nodded. "I'll try to."

"Come on, let's get you out of here." Danny walked down the stairs with his brother. He looked up at his partner, who was still standing halfway up the stairs. "Jack, you staying here or what?"

"There's one more thing we need to check. Jamie, you said the "other one" worked by pushing the center panel. What other one? Is there a door on the other side also?"

When Jamie didn't answer right away, Danny looked at his brother. Jamie was clutching the stair railing tightly, but even so, Danny could see his arms trembling. Was he remembering something else? "Jamie, is there a second door?

Jamie nodded slightly. "I have to get out of here," he gasped between short breaths. "Danny, she's going to kill me. I have to get out of here."

"Okay, kid. Stay with me." Danny looked up at his partner. "Jackie, yes on the door. I'll be back." Danny turned his attention back to his brother. "Come on, kid. Let's go." He gently pried Jamie's hands off the railing and led him down the stairs. "You're not gonna puke on me or anything, are you?"

Jamie almost smiled. "Nope."

Danny didn't ask his brother any other questions until they were out of the house and he'd settled Jamie against the trunk of his car. "Want to tell me what that was about?"

"Needed to get out of there," Jamie responded, trying to buy himself some time to pull his thoughts together.

"Yeah, figured that part out," Danny retorted, but not sharply. "You know what Jackie's going to find behind that door, don't you? Tell me."

Jamie stared down at the ground. "It was that day I tried to escape. When she was forcing me back upstairs."

"Your ankle was busted, she'd already shot at you a few times, and you were crawling up the steps…"

"Once I was back on my feet at the top of the stairs, I started to limp toward the open attic door – the left one – but she used her gun to nudge me toward the other side, toward that one panel. Then she told me to push against it, and it slid back into the track and sideways, and there was another set of stairs going up into that side of the attic. Danny, I thought she was just taking me to some other room..."

"But…" Danny prompted when Jamie didn't continue.

"But she wasn't. I got up those stairs, take a quick look around, and there's this girl's body lying in the middle of the floor. Blond. Late teens. Obviously dead. Had been for a while." Jamie squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get that image out of his head. But the memory just kept swirling around. _Limping up those stairs. Seeing that girl lying dead on the floor. Yelling in shock and jumping backwards until he hit the wall, his heart racing, breath coming in panicked gasps._ Her _pressing the still-warm barrel of that gun into his side, whispering that he'd be next if he tried to get away again. That he might be next anyway. Darkness closing off his vision as a high-pitched whine filled his ears…_

"Kid? Jamie, hey, stay with me!" Danny moved so he was standing in front of Jamie and grabbed his brother's shoulders. "Look at me. You're okay."

Jamie finally pulled in a deep breath and the darkness began fading. "Okay," he mumbled.

"So, she shows you the girl – probably Annalise Taffield – and…" Danny asked a minute later.

"I just freaked out. I yelled and jumped back against the wall. And _she_ came up next to me, and pushed that gun into my side, and told me that if I tried to escape again, I'd join the girl. That I might anyway, depending on how Dad responded to her questions. Then I think I blacked out, because the next thing I remember is being at the bottom of the attic stairs."

Danny moved to lean against the car beside his brother and wrapped an arm around his shoulders while he processed Jamie's latest revelations. He'd thought what Jamie had already told them was bad. The full story was much worse. And he'd been wrong about the cause of Jamie's nightmares. This was it. Not a little fall on the stairs.

"And then she told me to get back to my room. Thought it best to do what she said," Jamie tried to joke around shaky breaths.

"Sometimes, kid, you actually do the smart thing," Danny teased back. "Hey, you'll be okay for a few minutes while I go check with my partner?"

"Go. I'm fine." Jamie almost succeed in keeping the trembling out of his voice.

Danny stood up and headed for the house. "Stay there. I'll be back."

Jamie nodded and focused on pulling in air. _Breathe. Breathe normally. You're safe. You're away from her._

The sound of a gunshot from inside the house, followed quickly by a pained yell from Danny and another gunshot startled him. "Danny!"


	22. Chapter 21 - Answers

**CHAPTER 21 - ANSWERS**

"Danny!" Jamie yelled. He sprinted toward the house, yanking his gun out of its holster as he ran. As he burst through the front door, he saw his brother lying on the floor at the foot of the main staircase. Marjorie Thornsberg stood across the entry hall, holding a handgun aimed straight at Danny's prone form. Surely Danny's vest would have stopped a bullet from that gun, Jamie tried to reassure himself. Surely, Danny would be okay for a few minutes. Because he couldn't check on his brother's condition until he dealt with the active threat she posed. He raised his gun into firing position. "Put it down, Marjorie. Now."

Marjorie Thornsberg stared at him. "If it isn't little Jameson Reagan. You've grown up, haven't you?" She glanced from him, down to Danny's still body, the back to him. "And isn't this interesting. All of us, back here again."

"Yeah, just what the hell are you doing here? You're supposed to be on an island somewhere," Jamie snapped. Some part of his brain knew that arguing with a gun-wielding woman wasn't proper procedure. But was there a proper procedure for confronting the woman who had kidnapped and abused you years before? And who had just shot your brother? He focused on keeping his gun steady in his trembling hands as his two biggest nightmares – the kidnapping and the possibility of losing his last brother – collided.

"I decided to come back home. I guess your father's goons couldn't follow me on vacation, or you would have known that," Marjorie smirked. "I've was lounging in my solarium, enjoying the fall views, when I hear someone in my house. I was surprised as anyone to find it was Detective Reagan walking upstairs."

"That's a load of crap. Danny told your attorney about the search warrant, and that we would be here. And your attorney passed that message on to you," Jamie argued. "Then you came here, trying to find me. Well now you have. So what are you going to do now?"

"Marjorie, put the gun down," Jackie ordered from her position at the top of the staircase.

Jackie. He'd almost forgotten she was here also. Jamie pulled in a breath, trying to calm himself and get his brain working again. "Put it down," he repeated Jackie's order

"No. I'm not going back to jail until I keep my word. I told your father I'd kill you if he didn't give me the answers I needed. Your brother stopped me from keeping my promise. Maybe it's fitting that I killed him first."

"You'll be dead before I am," Danny ground out through clenched teeth.

Jamie breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of Danny's voice. Talking meant breathing; breathing meant alive. He turned his attention back to Marjorie. "Marjorie, you don't need to kill anyone," Jamie argued. "You're looking for answers about your son's death, right? What happened?"

Marjorie glared at him. "That's all I ever wanted."

Danny spoke up also, snapping out a pained, "Harvard, shut up."

"You shut up, Danny," Jamie snapped back at Danny before addressing Marjorie. "I'll tell you right now what caused your son's death. You killed him. Shot him with that same revolver you tried to shoot me with and made it look like a suicide. But you already knew that. What you're looking for is answers about what led to that point, right?"

Marjorie silently glared at him while keeping the handgun aimed at Danny.

"Harvard…" Danny warned.

"Your son was a druggie. He was using a variety of drugs and in order to pay for his habit, he started running drugs and dealing for a low-level dealer by the name of Johnny Tesla. One day, he picked up a package of drugs from Tesla to distribute to his friends, but instead of doing his job, he dipped into the supply he just picked up, got high and the package got stolen. Tesla was threatening to kill him if he couldn't return the drugs. Probably would have killed him anyway, just to show his other dealers what he would do if they crossed him. He was that kind of sociopath. That's why Annalise Taffield was trying to get him to turn himself in – so Tesla wouldn't kill him."

"Jamie, just shoot her already," Danny groaned.

"Mr. Tesla is dead now. He joined one of the city's crime families years ago and was killed as a result of his criminal activities last year. He's dead, just like your son. Just like Annalise Taffield. You have the answers you wanted, so no one else needs to die. Shooting Detective Reagan or me is not going to change anything. Just end this. Put the gun down."

Ms. Thornsberg stared at Jamie for a long moment, the only sound in the room Danny's pained breathing. The gun began to move away from Danny and toward Jamie.

"Don't. Remember what you told my Dad. You promised to let me go safely if you got your answers," Jamie argued. "You told him you always keep your word."

In the silence that followed, no one moved. Marjorie Thornsberg's gun stayed pointed between the two Reagan brothers. Jackie stood at the top of the stairs, her gun pointed at the woman. Jamie lowered his gun slightly, encouraging her to follow suit.

Then, with a wail, Marjorie Thornsberg threw her gun down. "Damn it. I can't do it."

Jackie ran down the stairs and handcuffed the sobbing woman. "Reagans, ambulance and backup are on the way," she called out.

Jamie quickly holstered his gun and ran to kneel at Danny's side. "Danny? Talk to me."

"Damn Harvard lawyers," Danny groaned between gasping breaths. "Can't stop yapping."

"Damn NYPD detectives. Always getting in trouble." Jamie fumbled with the closures of Danny's ballistic vest with trembling fingers. He finally yanked Danny's vest open and checked his brother's body for injury. "No bleeding. Looks like the vest caught the bullet."

"Check… back also," Danny ground out.

Jamie quickly rolled his brother onto his side and found a second bullet embedded in the Kevlar, but no wounds on his body. "Looks like your vest did its job," he said with a relieved sigh. He sat back on his feet. "God, Danny, you scared me."

Danny rolled onto his back, wincing as the movement sent pain radiating through both front and back. "Welcome to every day of my life, kid. At least, every day since you decided to put on that uniform." He winced again as breathing too deeply sent a spasm of pain through his injured ribs. "Damn. That hurts like hell."

"The bus will be here soon. Just hold on. Hold on," Jamie begged.

"Kid, I'm fine. Help me sit up," Danny ordered.

Jamie pushed down on his brother's shoulder. "No way, Danny. Not until the paramedics look you over."

"What, are you some kind of doctor now?" Danny griped.

"Technically, yes. That is what the 'D' in my 'J.D.' degree stands for. Juris Doctor. Doctor of Laws."

"Then go find some laws to play doctor on, and let me sit up. If I'm lying down when the medics get here, they'll haul me to the hospital."

Jamie shook his head. "Which is where you need to go. Stay put. Besides, you'll get to see your wife at the hospital."

Danny reached up to grip his brother's arm. "Good job getting her to drop the gun, kid. Just one suggestion."

"What's that?"

"Next time a deranged woman is pointing a gun at my head, try not to make her angry, okay? And definitely don't accuse her of murder."

Jamie managed a small smile. "Sure. I'll remember that for next time a deranged woman is pointing a gun at your head." He looked down at his brother. "So, if the gun-wielding woman is not deranged, it's okay to make her angry?"

Danny laughed shortly. "Quit looking for loopholes, Harvard."

Jamie looked up to watch Jackie leading Marjorie Thornsberg out of the house with her hands cuffed behind her. "It's over, isn't it? She's going back to prison where she can't get to me again."

"It's over," Danny agreed. "Unless Erin totally messes up, you're free of her forever. It's over."

* * *

 _A/N: But this story isn't... One last chapter tomorrow!_


	23. Chapter 22 – Endings

**CHAPTER 22 – ENDINGS**

DECEMBER 2012, 1PP

Detective Baker looked down at the letter sitting in front of her. The name of the sender was familiar, as was the cheap paper the letter was written on, since the Commissioner received numerous letters from prisoners who claimed they were unjustly imprisoned or being mistreated. She routinely handled those letters for the Commissioner. But this one was different. It was from Marjorie Thornsberg and requested a brief visit from Frank Reagan. Baker made sure the Commissioner was available, then carried the letter into his office.

"So, where is this letter that requires my personal attention?" Frank asked.

Baker put the letter down on his desk. "From Marjorie Thornsberg, Sir."

Frank frowned at the letter. With Marjorie sitting in jail awaiting trial on charges of murder of Annalise Taffield and attempted murder of Detective Daniel Reagan, he'd hoped they were done with her, at least until the trial started. He thanked God again that it was only attempted murder. That Danny had been smart enough to wear his vest that day; that he'd recovered and had been back at work within days. That Jamie had faced down _her_ and the demons from the past, and moved forward. He finally picked the letter up and read it.

"Your schedule for this afternoon is full; the weekly budget meeting, and then you're meeting with the Mayor's education committee. I could squeeze in a visit tomorrow…"

"Cancel the Mayor's committee meeting."

"Yes, Sir. I'll contact the prison and let them know you'll be there this afternoon."

Several hours later, Frank found himself sitting across from Marjorie Thornsberg in one of the small interrogation rooms at the prison.

"Commissioner Reagan," she greeted him.

"Mister Reagan will do. I'm not here in any official capacity," Frank responded.

Marjorie nodded. "Mister Reagan, then. I asked you to meet with me so I could apologize for what I did to your son."

"For what? Shooting my oldest son? Or kidnapping and abusing my youngest?"

"For what I did to Jameson. It was wrong of me to make him suffer, when it was you who failed. But I didn't abuse him," Marjorie argued. "I treated him as well as possible, given the circumstances. You do remember that I fed him and gave him a newspaper to read and a bed to sleep on."

"You did do that. You also had him grabbed from his home. You Tasered him, more than once. You shot at him, more than once. You slapped him. You caused him to fall on the stairs, then forced him to climb back upstairs to your prison room on a broken ankle. You threatened him. You terrorized him so much he couldn't remember most of it until recently. You didn't feed him one day, and you attempted to drug him the next day," Frank enumerated as he paced along his side of the table.

"I only Tasered him when it was necessary for my safety. As to the rest of it, I didn't intend to hurt him that day. It was a momentary loss of control after he attacked me. And…"

"He attacked you with a pillow because he was desperate to go home!"

"I couldn't let that happen. You hadn't produced the answers I needed yet."

"You had a gun with you, that day Jamie tried to escape. Why? Were you planning on killing him then?" Frank asked the question that had burned in his mind since Jamie's memories had come back.

Marjorie shook her head. "No. Not that day. I had planned to take some more photographs, to inspire you to comply with my request. It didn't appear that you were taking me seriously. That meeting with the reporters gave you the perfect opportunity to update me on your progress. But you didn't. All you did was try to communicate with your son. I had to show you I meant business. Then he messed up that plan, and I had to make do without them."

"You sent threatening notes instead of the photos."

"I would have followed up on my threats. I told you before, I always keep my word. That's why I laced his lunch with sedatives that Monday. It was for his own good. It was obvious you didn't have any answers for me. I was planning to give him the drugs to make it easier on him, so he wouldn't be frightened when I had to kill him. So he wouldn't have to suffer like Annalise did."

Frank jerked back from the table at Marjorie's blunt statement. It had been closer than any of them realized. Danny almost had been too late. Ten more minutes, even five more minutes and she would have already set her plan in motion. "What happened to Annalise Taffield?"

"Annalise. That little druggie was going to drag my son to jail with her, or worse. She was convincing Parker to go to the police and confess to her crimes; throw himself on the mercy of the courts. Parker was listening to her. If he'd just listened to me, we could have gone somewhere else, left the country, and let that Annalise face the consequences of her actions. But he insisted she was right, that they should go to the police. I had to stop her. Had to get her to shut up. If my aim hadn't been off, she would have died instantly. But she didn't," Marjorie explained calmly.

Franks stared at her in shock. She'd just offhandedly confessed to murder! "Ms. Thornsberg, before you say anything else, you may want to consult your attorney," Frank advised.

"She just lay there, whimpering and bleeding. Parker… He actually tried to help her, and then when she died, he got hysterical; got the gun away from me…" Marjorie choked on a sob. "He didn't have to do that. It didn't have to happen, if he would have listened to me."

Frank headed for the door. He'd heard all he wanted to from Marjorie Thornsberg.

"I couldn't do it."

"Couldn't do what?" Frank turned around to face her again.

"Kill Jameson. I told you I'd keep my word, but I couldn't do it. I had the opportunity, after I'd shot Detective Reagan. But after all this time following Jameson in the newspapers and on the computer..."

"Stalking him."

"Reading about his high-school accomplishments, graduation, going to Harvard and then Harvard Law, losing his mother and his brother, joining the police... It felt like I was killing my own son. I just couldn't do it."

"He's not your son. He's my son, and you will never again have the opportunity to harm him." Frank turned on a heel and marched out of the room.

* * *

FEBRUARY 4, 2013, MONDAY – 12th PRECINCT

Vinnie and Jamie were headed for the locker room at the station house when the desk officer spotted them. "Reagan," he called out. "Hey, Reagan, you got a visitor in the conference room."

"Bart, we're off duty as of ten minutes ago. Can't you just pretend you didn't see me?" Jamie joked as he turned to head for the room.

Bart shrugged. "Maybe. But then you'd either be in trouble with your father or your boss, or both."

Jamie frowned. What had brought his father… or the Commissioner… to his station house? He pushed open the door to the conference room. "Commissioner?"

Frank was leaning against the table. "Dad will do fine."

Jamie smiled. "Okay, Dad." He looked over his father, noting he looked tense, but not agitated. "What's up?"

"You know what today is?' Frank asked.

"February 4th?"

"Yes," Frank agreed "And the fifteenth anniversary of one of the worst days of my life."

Jamie sagged back against the table as the memories he'd tried to put behind him came rushing back. "Yeah. That too. We going to have an anniversary party?" he joked lamely.

Frank smiled slightly. "No, we're not. But I thought you might want to share a beer with your old man and your siblings."

"Sure," Jamie agreed. "You came all the way out here to ask me to join you for a drink?"

Frank sighed. "I wanted to be the one to tell you before you heard it from the rumor mill."

"Tell me what? Dad, what's happened?"

"Marjorie Thornsberg killed herself in prison last night," Frank stated. "OD'd on sleeping pills she'd collected."

Jamie took a deep breath in, then let it out slowly. "Do you think it's wrong that most of what I feel right now is relief?" he asked after a long moment.

Frank laid one hand on Jamie's shoulder. "If that's wrong, then I'm just as much in the wrong as you."

"It's not relief that she's dead. It's more, relief that it's finally over."

"That she can't hurt you anymore; that you're safe from her plots. That all of the family is safe," Frank added.

Jamie nodded. "And at the same time, I'm kind of sad for her, too. She spent all that time, all that effort, threw away years of her life just to find out what had happened to her son, and in the end, the answers weren't enough."

Frank recalled his conversation with Marjorie in December. "I'm not sure she ever accepted the answers you and Danny found. She couldn't accept her son had been involved in any crimes."

"Those answers couldn't give her back what she'd lost. Couldn't bring her any peace," Jamie agreed.

"That's your mother's influence speaking," Frank said, looking into his son's eyes. Eyes that were so like his mother's. _He's so like Mary in every way. He and Joe both take after her._ "I can almost hear her saying the same thing."

Jamie felt a smile forming. "And I can almost hear what Danny is going to say."

Frank could too. _'Good riddance'_ would likely be the kindest words his eldest would have. "Your brother is a man of definite opinions."

"Definite. That's one way to put it," Jamie joked. He gestured toward the door. "I'm gonna get changed. I'll meet you at where? Jimmy's?"

"Jimmy's. In half an hour," Frank confirmed.

It was closer to an hour later before three generations of Reagans had gathered at Jimmy's bar. As usual, Erin had arrived early, followed shortly by Frank, who had detoured to pick up his father in Bay Ridge. By the time Jamie arrived, Frank had already filled them in on the news.

"Hey, family," Jamie called as he made his way across the bar.

Erin stood to meet him and pulled him into a tight hug. "Hello, baby brother."

"Erin, hey, what's that for?" Jamie halfheartedly tried to pull free of his sister.

"For the hugs you missed out on that week."

Jamie finally wiggled free from Erin. "I'd rather make up for the beer I missed that week," he joked as he sat down and reached for the glass his grandfather had poured for him.

"Dad told us about _her_ ," Erin commented. "I'm sorry to hear she died."

"Well, I'm not," Henry retorted.

"Neither am I," Danny commented as he arrived at the table. "And Erin, admit it, you're more sorry that you won't get to put your star witness here on the stand at _her_ trial." Danny threw an arm around his brother's shoulders and leaned forward to snag a beer for himself. "Since, you know, there's not going to be one."

Jamie took a swallow of his beer. "Personally, I'm sorry she's dead. But I'm also glad that that whole thing is finally over, and I'm here with all of you."

Henry raised his glass and clinked it into Jamie's. "To all of us, and to those who aren't here tonight."

Frank looked over his family. Jamie, laughing at something Danny was saying; Danny, with an arm wrapped around both his siblings; Erin, trying to look annoyed at Danny but smiling. "Amen to that."

* * *

 _A/N: Thanks for all who read and reviewed! Look for a short Halloween story soon... Oh, and that deleted scene from this story. L.L.L.  
_


	24. Bonus Chapter - Deleted Scenes

**DELETED SCENES**

 **From Chapter 17 – Two Sundays: Sunday 2012**

 _In which Jamie first claims a girl he likes is just "a girl from school" and which explains what Joe was up to when he pushed his father out of Jamie's hospital room. This was originally part of the Sunday 2012 chapter, but it just didn't flow well there and that chapter was getting too long... So, in the spirit of DVD deleted scenes, here it is:  
_

* * *

MONDAY, FEBRUARY 9, 1998 - ST. MICHAEL'S HOSPITAL

Danny pushed the door to his brother's hospital room open a little harder than he meant to, and it knocked into the wall, startling Jamie from a light sleep. Danny watched his brother's wide eyes dart from his parents to him, and then focus in on the casserole dish Nurse Linda was carrying. _Yup, the kid's hungry._ "Hi, little brother," Danny greeted. "Brought you dinner. And some other stuff."

Joe quickly got to his feet. "You brought everything I asked for?"

"All of it," Danny responded. "Ma, Grandma said that dish needs to be divided up and heated. Why don't you and Erin take care of that, and Joe and I will take care of Jamie?"

"Dad, you should go too. Help them out," Joe added.

Danny looked from his confused father to Joe. So, apparently, Joe was keeping his plan secret. It made sense. Easier to beg for forgiveness than to ask permission, and all that. It looked like his father suspected something was up, but was going to play along. He nodded, then followed Mary, Erin and the nurse out of Jamie's room.

As soon as the door closed, Joe was reaching for the duffle bag. "Gimme that. And go get the shower running."

"Yes, _little_ brother," Danny teased as he headed for the bathroom.

Joe dug through the contents of the duffle and pulled out a plastic garbage bag and a roll of duct tape. "Let me see your leg."

"Joey, what're you doing?" Jamie held onto the covers.

"Getting you showered, kiddo. Or do you want to stay grungy?" He pulled the bedcovers out of Jamie's hands, then quickly slid the plastic bag over Jamie's casted ankle and taped it shut at the top to keep the leg dry. "That's not too tight, is it?"

Jamie shook his head. "It's okay. But how am I going to stand up?"

"That leg will be on the shower bench, staying dry, you'll stand on you good leg and I'll be there to keep you from falling over and hurting something," Joe explained as he wrapped and taped a second bag around his brother's lower arm. "And that will keep that IV setup dry." He began stripping off his clothes.

"Joey? What?"

Joe scooped his jeans up off the floor and draped them across the end of the bed. "Gonna be in the shower with you, keeping you from falling over. Gonna get wet. Don't like wet clothes," he explained. "Danny?"

Danny stepped out of the bathroom, clad only in his underwear and dropped his clothes on the bed. "All set in there."

"Good. Help me get him to the shower." Joe helped Jamie sit up and draped his little brother's arm across his shoulders. With Danny's help, he quickly got Jamie into the shower and under the running water. "Danny, go grab the soap and stuff."

"Getting kind of bossy there, Joey," Danny griped, but he fetched the items anyway. He soaped up a washcloth and handed it to Jamie. "Here, kiddo. You wash what you can, and Joe and I will get the rest."

"Danny, I can shower myself," Jamie protested.

"Not quick enough, Jame. Not with only one hand and one leg. We have a time limit here before the family gets back. Let us help. Besides, it's not like Danny and I haven't bathed you before."

"When I was a _baby_ ," Jamie griped, but quickly started scrubbing off a week's worth of grime.

Danny lathered shampoo in to Jamie's hair. "You know what, kid, this would go a lot faster if you'd get a haircut," he teased. "We'd have been done by now."

"Danny, you're getting soap in my eyes!"

"Well, keep 'em closed."

"And that's Erin's shampoo, isn't it? I'm gonna smell like a _girl_!"

Joe looked at the shampoo bottle. "Like coconut passion fruit. With extra shine and volume."

"Better than how you smelled before," Danny joked as he finished washing Jamie's body. "Don't worry, we'll find you some manly-scented shampoo before you have any female visitors."

"You'd better. Because I don't want Katie thinking I use girl shampoo."

"Who's Katie?" Joe asked. He redirected the showerhead to rinse the shampoo and soap off.

" _Nobody_. A girl from school."

"Awww. Baby brother has a crush," Danny teased.

"Do _not_!"

"That's okay, Jamie. Danny has a crush, too. That pretty blonde nurse he walked in with." Joe worked the shampoo lather out of Jamie's hair. "You know she was at the hospital last week, in Bay Ridge," he told Danny.

"That's where I'd seen her before."

"Yep, Jamie, Danny is completely smitten with your ER nurse. All rinsed off?"

"Uh-huh."

Joe cranked off the shower. "Danny, towels."

Danny shook open one of the towels he'd brought. "Fresh from the closet, so don't say it's Erin's towel. Any girly scent comes from Mom's detergent." He draped it around his brother's shoulders and used the other one to start towel-drying Jamie's hair. "Joe, you forgot to tell me to bring a hair blower."

"Great. And now my hair's going to dry funny, too," Jamie griped.

"Hang on, kiddo. Let's get you into you PJs, then you can fix up your hairdo." Joe helped Jamie back to the hospital bed. With help from his brothers, Jamie quickly got himself into the sweatpants and oversized tee shirt Danny had brought from home, and got himself settled back in bed.

"Can I have my hairbrush and a mirror now?" Jamie asked as soon as his brothers had finished re-dressing themselves.

Joe dug through the duffle bag, finally pulling out a brush. "Why don't you let ze famouz Reagan coiffeurs, ze brothers Joseph and Daniel, fix your hair for your?" Joe asked, in a horrible approximation of a French accent.

"I can do it myself. Gimme," Jamie demanded.

Joe placed the hairbrush in his brother's hands.

"Hey, this is Erin's brush!"

Joe looked over at his brother. "Geez, Danny, more of Erin's things?"

Danny shrugged apologetically. "She must've left them lying around the bathroom since she's been staying there this week. I bet it works the same."

Jamie scowled at his brother, but began working the tangles out of his hair with Erin's brush. "I need a mirror, too."

Joe exchanged a glance with Danny. "Kiddo, you sure you about that?"

"Yes."

Danny handed Erin's makeup mirror to Joe.

"Okay, but just remember you're not looking your best. You lost a lot of weight, and that bruise looks ugly," Joe said as he gave the mirror to Jamie.

Joe kept his hand resting on his brother's shoulder as Jamie brushed his hair into some semblance of his normal style, and then tilted the mirror down to get a look at his face. He moved the mirror around to focus on the bruised side of his face, then flipped it over to the magnifying side for a closer look.

"You remember how you got that?" Danny asked.

Jamie shook his head as he slowly put the mirror down in his lap. "No." He looked down at his hands. "Don't know why I was worried about my hair. Katie's gonna run away as soon as she gets a look at me."

Joe sat down on the bed next to his dejected brother and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Hey, Jamie, no she won't. Grandma Betty will fatten you right back up, and the bruise will fade."

Danny sat down on his brother's other side. "Besides, girls love that kind of thing. She'll get to play nurse and fuss over you."

"You think?"

"Listen to Danny, kiddo. Voice of experience. Why do you think he keeps getting his face in the way of so many bad guy's fists? He likes the attention from the ladies," Joe teased. "And speaking of ladies, who's this Katie you keep mentioning?"

Jamie felt himself blushing. "Just a girl from school. I don't even know if she likes me. And I stood her up for our study date. She probably doesn't even want to talk to me again."

"Oh, she does," Danny cut in. "She said so when we questioned her."

"You questioned Katie?" Jamie yelped. "Oh, great."

"Had to make sure she wasn't part of things," Danny explained. "But she was really upset. _Really_ upset. Could hardly keep from crying. Asked us if she could come over when we got you back, to help with the school stuff you missed."

"Really?" Jamie's mood instantly brightened.

"Study date's back on, kiddo." Joe patted his brother's back. "Now, let's start putting that weight back on you. Mom should have your dinner ready by now."

Danny slipped off the bed. "I'll go get them."

-BB-BB-

Later that night, Jamie's doctor insisted that, per hospital policy, all visitors had to leave. One parent could stay with Jamie, he allowed, but that was it. Frank had decided he would be the one to stay, and instructed the family to go home and get some rest.

Danny watched with concern as Joe quickly limped down the hall towards the men's room. His concern increased when he saw Joe slam his shoulder into the door, like he was breaking down a locked door. The sound of the door slamming into the wall echoed down the hallway. Danny jogged down the hallway after his brother. He entered the men's room and found Joe angrily pacing the floor. "Joey, I warned you about the bruises…" he began.

Joe put his hands on the sink and leaned forward against the mirror for support. "God, what did she do to him?"

"You want the details? Slapped him. Caused him to fall on a staircase. Zapped him with a Taser."

"I failed him. I should've stopped them. I should've been with him."

Danny gripped his brother's shoulder. "Joey, we've already gone over this. You did everything you could, and a lot more than I did."

Joe almost smiled. "Because you weren't there."

"And there's a lot she didn't do to him. Remember that, okay? She didn't kill him, she didn't beat him, she didn't molest him…

"Not that he remembers."

"Not that the medical exams show. He's safe down the hall with Dad. Recovering."

"Right." Joe took a few deep breaths. "He's recovering."

"And as soon as he's out of here, I promised him we'd take him to the gym and whip him into shape. He's gonna be a good looking kid, once he fills out that beanpole frame he has going. Might even give you some competition for the ladies."

"Gonna give you even more competition, you ugly dork," Joe joked.

"Never. You two are competing for second place." Danny looked in the mirror and fixed an out of place hair. "So, are you going to follow Dad's order and go home?"

Joe snorted. "Only if the waiting room counts as home. Bet you Mom's staying also."

* * *

 _And that brings us to the very, very end of this story... Thanks again for the reads and reviews!_


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